


Resolution

by Wordweaver



Series: A Wild Combination [1]
Category: One Piece
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Complete, Falling In Love, Lust, M/M, New Year's Eve, ZoSan - Freeform, sanzo - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-30
Updated: 2015-06-20
Packaged: 2018-03-26 12:49:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 46,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3851575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wordweaver/pseuds/Wordweaver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Screw. The word ran through his consciousness and down the length of his spine, in a way that told him higher brain function wasn’t involved.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Maybe This Year

* * *

 

_And it's been a long December and there's reason to believe_  
_Maybe this year will be better than the last_  
_I can't remember all the times I tried to tell myself_  
_To hold on to these moments as they pass_

_\- Counting Crows_

* * *

 

  
_The small yellow and black fish flickered through the turquoise water, darting just beyond the tips of his outstretched fingers. He reached out further but they stayed just out of reach, effortlessly outpacing him in their element, a shimmering drift of colour that rode the current then spiralled sideways. Dividing in a hundred flashing directions before rushing together again. A chimaera, always moving, always changing._

_Joy welled up in him and he laughed, the sea cool in his mouth. His body moved through the water slower than the fish but he was at ease, weightless and slipping forwards with each stroke of his hands, each kick of his legs. Turning on his back he gazed up towards where the surface hung high above like a mirror: light striking down in shifting rays that gilded his body._

_He laughed again because the weightlessness of his body extended to his heart. He was utterly, completely free and where he belonged. He watched the shifting wave-sky overhead and only then it occurred to him to wonder, how it was that he was able to breathe -_

 

 

Sanji woke. His eyes opened and he gazed upwards. Not at turquoise waves shot through with sunlight, but at a shadowy ceiling that was badly in need of someone getting up there with a duster. He blinked up at it and felt the contentment of his dream ebb from his body, making room for the flat grey morning.

_Shit._

He let out an exhalation that seemed to push his shoulders into the mattress. Then turned his head and peered at the clock on the nightstand, but there wasn't enough light to see its display. He groped for it, snagging the clock on his third try, and pressed the button that lit the digital display. The feeble yellow glow revealed the joyous news that it was five AM.

Sanji groaned, dropping the clock onto his chest and shutting his eyes.

_Fucking hell._

His brain was hard-wired for early morning waking after years of shift work in kitchens, and nothing he tried seemed to change that. No matter that this morning there was no need to be up at five AM because there was no actual shift to go to. Nor had there been, in point of fact, for several months now... But his stupid brain had, evidently, still failed to register that fact.

Sanji lay still with the clock clasped loosely on his chest and tried to pretend that falling back asleep again was an option. He breathed slowly in and out through his nose. Summoned peaceful thoughts. Sought that turquoise sea, with its school of black and gold fish.

Then somewhere outside a distant siren set up a reminder that in a city, disaster can strike at all hours of the day. Or night.

 

 

Sanji sighed. Opened his eyes and unfolded one arm, replacing the clock on the nightstand. The tempting option – of hurling it into a corner of the room – was not a practical one. Largely because four months down the line after being fired from his regular job and having to exist on whatever temping work he could find, he couldn't afford the luxury of gratuitous property damage. He kept his arm extended, groping further until his fingers located his smokes and lighter. Bringing both back he flipped the pack open and took out a cigarette, noting that only three remained. He inserted the cigarette between his lips and lit up while lying on his back, blowing a stream of smoke up at the dusty ceiling.

_This is my last pack. That means a crappy shopping trip._ Sanji inhaled nicotine and tried to remember how much actual cash he had left in his wallet. Enough for cigarettes he seriously hoped, because the ATM had eaten his fucking card three days earlier and he didn't want to have to revisit his old shoplifting skills. Not that he couldn't boost a pack of cigarettes, but to do that he'd have to walk several blocks because no way was he going to steal from the corner store just down the street from his apartment. Not least because Gin, the store keeper, would break both Sanji's arms if he caught him at it, using the aluminium baseball bat he kept under the counter.

 

 

The smoke filling his lungs was having its usual restorative effect. Sanji didn't often smoke in bed, not being a fan of dying stupidly by self-immolation, but this morning he felt like he needed a pick-me-up. It had been hard enough in the past, when he'd had to get up at five every morning to rush to work: he'd often wished that he could lie in bed a few hours longer. Yet now he had zero reason to get up, he dreaded mornings even more.

_Snap out of it, you slacker._ Sanji knew from bitter experience that the only way to deal with this dark morning mood was to ignore it. Thinking about his situation, trying to come up with solutions to his problems, led in ever-decreasing spirals down to a pit of gloom. Or worse still, anxiety. And climbing back up out of that pit took serious amounts of energy.

_Break it down. Small do-able tasks._ Sanji frowned up at the ceiling, exhaling smoke with a long steady out-breath. _Get out of bed. Take a shower. Get dressed. Make coffee._ He pictured a list, with square boxes for checking off when each task was done. _Eat breakfast. Phone the temping agency._ That last task was one he wasn't looking forward to. He needed the money,  fuck did he need the money, but working on New Year's Eve was always a monumental pain in the ass. Customers always somewhere between annoyingly drunk or obnoxiously shitfaced, long shifts because everywhere stayed open till stupid o'clock, watching people have a great time partying while you worked your ass off... On the plus side the pay was usually double rates, but in Sanji's opinion it didn't anywhere near compensate for the aggravation.

_Beggars can't be choosers._ He pulled a wry face at the ceiling. He'd long ago accepted the antisocial hours and hard labour that working in kitchens required, but there was a big difference between sweating blood as a chef in a good restaurant and toiling for minimum wage in some piece-of-shit catering outfit. As he'd found out only too thoroughly over the past few months.

He found himself wishing, for the umpteenth time, that he had managed to keep a lid on his temper that day four months ago at L'Escargot Blanc. Or that the craphead customer who'd complained about his lemon soufflé and insisted that Sanji be fetched from the kitchen so that he could complain to the chef in person, had instead choked on his first mouthful and collapsed face-down in his plate. Or had gone to another restaurant. Or been run over by a cab. Or decided to stay home and order take-out – anything, just so long as he hadn't barged into Sanji's life and started insulting his cooking.

 

 

He had tried to keep his cool. He really had. You didn't become as good a chef as he was without having to take a lot of heat both in and out of the kitchen; and seeing as how he'd spent his formative years under his old man's tutelage, Sanji had learned to handle a lot worse than what most customers dished out. But it had been the wrong end of a long dinner service: he'd been summoned out front right in the middle of a rush of orders that he knew were piling up, while he stood there and listened to a flabby whiner in a silk suit disparagingly describe Sanji's lovingly-created soufflé as “third rate” and declare that he wasn't paying for his meal.

Sanji knew that the soufflé had been perfect when he'd sent it out. More than that, he knew that throwing a hissy fit at the end of the last course to avoid paying for a meal was a dodge that well-heeled diners used all too often. They relied on restaurants wanting to save face: preferring to write off a bill rather than deal with the embarrassment of someone making a loud fuss in front of all their other customers.

He had known all that, and he had still stayed calm. Politely offered to bring out another lemon soufflé for the customer, with a complimentary after-dinner liqueur. Kept a lid on his temper. Right up to the moment when the dickhead at the table had sneered at his offer of another dessert, before telling Sanji his cooking was only fit to be used as an ashtray. Following this up by pointedly stubbing out his cigar in the remaining portion of soufflé.

 

 

When he had called his old man afterwards to tell him the bad news, at that point in his story there had been a long pause on the other end of the line, followed by a heavy sigh. “Tell me you didn't let that asshole provoke you into doing something stupid.”

Sanji, phone pressed to his ear, had scowled. “I kicked his shitty ass. Which he was _seriously_ asking for.”

“Since when has aggravated assault been part of a chef's remit?”

“That fucker stubbed his cigar out _in my food_. In a soufflé that I put my heart and soul into.”

“Customer's prerogative, to be a dickhead. You don't know that by now, you ought to.”

“You telling me you'd have let someone get away with that kind of shit in your restaurant?”

“He certainly wouldn't have eaten in my restaurant ever again. But I'd have found a way of dealing with it without causing a scene.”

“Zeff, you are so full of shit - ”

“Watch the lip, kiddo. You're not shouting at some jerkwad customer now.”

 

 

Sanji had tightened his hand so hard on his cell phone his fingers had ached, before counting to ten. “Nghhh...”

“You got fired. That's what you're calling to tell me, right?” Zeff's voice had gone quieter, but had lost none of its firmness.

Sanji had bent forward until his forehead thunked heavily against the wall. Leaned there hopelessly. “...Yeah.”

“When are you going to learn to keep that temper of yours on a leash, little eggplant? You seemed like you were settling in okay at that place, getting a real good foothold on the ladder. Now you've blown it all, just because you can't keep a lid on yourself.”

“Look, I've fucked up, I know.” Sanji had swallowed down the tightness in his throat. “You don't have to tell me that.”

“Hmm. Someone needs to.”

 

 

Sanji had shut his eyes. Focussed on breathing in and out.

“Well. No use crying over spilled milk.” Zeff's tone had shifted from admonishing to practical. “You'll just have to find another place to work.”

“I will. But it won't be easy... It's not like I'm going to get a good reference from L'Escargot.”

“Another good reason not to go decking customers.” Zeff had paused. “How are you off for money?”

“I'm fine.” The reply had come automatically.

“Because if you get short you can always come back and work here for a while, as a temporary fix. You know that.”

“That's... Yeah, I know... But... I'm okay for a while. Thanks anyway.”

“Okay, brat. I know it'll be a cold day in hell before you take me up on that offer. But remember, the option's there.”

 

 

The heat of the cigarette's tip burning down close to his fingers jolted Sanji back to the present, pulling him out of his memories. He managed not to drop the glowing end into the bedclothes, but there was nothing smokable left. Rolling onto his side he stubbed the butt out in the ashtray on his nightstand, before swinging his legs over the bed's edge and standing up.

_Okay. Enough wandering down memory lane. Seize the fucking day, and all that._

 

 

 

 

A shower went some way towards making the morning more tolerable. Once dressed Sanji made a cafetière of Jamaica Blue Mountain, inhaling its reviving fumes while it brewed. Top-end coffee was a luxury he couldn't usually afford: the Jamaica Blue was something he'd bought while still working at L'Escargot, and there wasn't much of it left... But he needed something to get him through this day. After sufficient time had elapsed he poured himself a cup and sipped it slowly, savouring every mellow mouthful.

Daylight slowly infiltrated the small kitchen. He lingered over the last half cup of coffee, with a scratch breakfast of toast and honey. His 'fridge and cupboards didn't lend themselves to much else. He had a few basics left but until he knew whether he was working tonight the option of buying more groceries was on hold, so if he wanted to eat later then toast for breakfast would have to do. That was _another_ crap thing about no longer being employed by a restaurant: chefs always got fed at least one meal when you were on the staff.

 

 

_Speaking of which... Time to check in._ Slowly he picked up his phone; mentally geared himself up, then scrolled to the agency's number and tapped dial. It rang three times before someone picked up with an offensively perky, “Good morning, Diamond Hospitality Agency - Kim speaking, how may I help you?”

“Good morning, Kim.” Sanji made his voice deliberately charming in response. “It's Sanji Black... Just calling to see if you have anything for me?” He crossed the fingers of one hand as he spoke, although he wasn't sure what he was wishing for.

“Ah... Mr Black...” Some of the perkiness evaporated from Kim's tones. “Didn't you check in with us just yesterday?”

“Yeah, I did, but... your colleague said to try calling again this morning.” That wasn't true, they hadn't said anything of the sort, but Sanji had just enough dignity left that he wanted to avoid giving off an aura of desperation.

“Oh, well... Okay, sure...” There was the slightly distracted noise of a keyboard being tapped. “As it happens, I think something did get booked in just now... Wait a minute...” More tapping. “Yes: bartender, a ten-hour shift for tonight. Greedy.”

Sanji thought for a moment her last word was some bizarre criticism of him. “Sorry?”

“Greedy. The name of the club.”

“Oh.” _Give me strength._ “Bartender. Uh...”

“Did you wish to take up the position?”

_Bartending. On New Year's Eve. Fucking purgatory._

“Mr Black?”

“Yeah, I'm...” _I'm a chef. A fucking good chef. Who just happens to have anger management issues. Crap, find me a chef who doesn't._ “What's it pay?”

“Industry standard, double-weighting for New Year's Eve.”

_I'm also fucking broke._ “Great. Sign me up.”

 

 

After receiving a list of instructions for the job – smart dress code, arrival time for (unpaid) induction one hour before start of shift, directions to the club's location in a fashionably central part of town – Sanji hung up and sat for a while gazing out of the kitchen window. The sky had cleared to a clear wintry blue, low morning sunlight striking the buildings opposite and sharpening every line, every texture of stone and concrete and glass. Almost without thinking he reached for his cigarettes: opened the packet and saw the remaining two left. Put the packet down again.

_C'mon. You've got work. Work equals money. Money equals all manner of life-enhancing necessities, like food and rent and cigarettes._ He calculated how much a ten-hour bartending shift at double rates would put in his pocket. The figure was depressingly shoddy. _So: charm the customers like fuck and clean up on tips._ That was the only upside to bar work, the fact that you could walk home at the end of a shift with more cash in your pocket than the actual pay cheque you received.

 

 

The rest of the day passed slowly. Mindful of the fact that he was going to be on his feet working from early evening almost through to dawn, Sanji took things easy. Choosing a work outfit took a while. It had to be something smart but comfortable to work in, cool (every club he'd ever worked in turned into a sauna once the dance floor got seriously active) and stylish enough that he'd look like adequate eye-candy behind the bar. He settled in the end for a turquoise shirt with darker blue silk tie, black vest and pants. The jacket would come off the moment he started work, and if it got too warm he could always fold up the cuffs of his shirt sleeves: he'd play that by ear, see how tight-assed the management was.

His working armour organised, he settled down on the couch with his laptop to check emails and scan the latest posts on the various cooking blogs he followed. Reading about food was usually a sure-fire way to distract himself, but for some reason it failed to hold his attention. He found himself gazing morosely at a lengthy article about Asian-Pacific cuisine, feeling not so much inspired as envious of the writer. It felt like standing on the pavement outside some five-star restaurant, nose pressed to the window, looking longingly in. All those glorious ingredients, all those amazing possibilities, all the ideas he had running through his brain... And no way of accessing them. In the couple of dozen temporary catering jobs he'd had in the last few months, the opportunities he'd had to really exercise his chef skills had been virtually zero.

Which led on inexorably to tonight's uninspiring prospect. At the club, Greedy. _Wonder what craphead thought of that name._ He clicked open a new tab on his browser, keyed in the club name and location and pulled up some reviews.

_\- Crowd was wicked, entry kinda steep but keeps out undesirables. Def the place to be!_

_\- Love the vibe, great DJs, when the music gets going this place is really banging._

_\- Fantastic nite out, great atmo. Lovin it, keep it real you guys!_

 

 

So far, so predictable. He quickly scanned through some photos taken by punters, of indistinguishable clubbers in varying hip poses of enjoyment. From the blurb on the club's own website it seemed to be a newish venue, owned by a big chain that also ran at least two other clubs in town. It looked high end, a designer night out for the young and affluent and metrosexual. That meant potentially high levels of obnoxiousness; though on the plus side, also potentially big tips to compensate. The other thing in the club’s favour as far as Sanji was concerned was that it was just within walking distance of his apartment. At least he wouldn’t have to find bus fare.

 

 

He was half-heartedly scanning food blogs again when his phone rang: he picked it up and saw Nami's number. Swiping his thumb across the screen, he lifted it up to take the call. Her voice sang melodiously into his ear. “Happy New Year!”

He smiled wryly, before replying. “Not New Year yet. Unless you're in Samoa, in which case why the hell didn't I get an invite to come with you?”

Nami's chuckle purred down the line to him. “As if. Just wanted to beat the rush, wish you a happy New Year before the midnight frenzy.”

“Same to you, thanks, gorgeous. You planning to party the night away?”

“What else. You want to come with?”

“I wish. Got to work.”

“No way... On New Year's Eve?” Her tone grew critical. “Ditch it, and come partying. I'll make it worth your while.”

 

 

Sanji let himself slide down the couch until he was horizontal. “Temptress.”

“So be tempted.” She made her voice coaxing now. “Y'know what they say, all work and no play...”

“They also say, he who pays no rent finds himself sleeping on the street.”

“One night won't make a difference,” she wheedled. “C'mon out and have fun. I can lend you for tonight, you can pay me back... whenever.”

“Thanks, my lovely. I appreciate the offer. But I've already taken a job, so... I gotta do it.”

 

 

“Party pooper.” She huffed with disappointment. “So what's the job? You gonna be cooking for some classy private party?”

“Not so much.” Sanji propped his feet on the end of the sofa. “In fact, not chef work at all.”

“Don't tell me you're waiting table somewhere again... Sanji, you have to get your life back on track.”

“Yeah, that seems to be the consensus. Unfortunately there are about a zillion wannabe chefs out there and we're all chasing the same ten jobs.”

“But none of them are as good as you. You just have to show people what you're capable of.”

“Duly noted. But for tonight that won't be an option.”

“Why not?”

“Because I'm working as a bartender.”

“On New Year's Eve? Ugh.” Her response was dismissive. “Whereabouts?”

“Some club uptown. It's called Greedy, would you believe.”

“Never been there... But isn't it kind of a cliquey upmarket place?”

“Judging by the website, I'd say, yeah.”

“Well... Enjoy pouring drinks for the rich and undeserving.”

“Thanks.”

“Flutter your eyelashes and get them to shower you with tips.”

“That's the plan.”

 

 

She laughed. “I bet. Hey, maybe you'll get lucky and snag some rich heiress and end up going home to her penthouse apartment.”

“That would be a nice way to end the evening,” Sanji agreed, smiling up at the ceiling. “If a tad unlikely.”

“Stranger things have happened. And it's about time you got some action between the sheets.”

Sanji winced. “It hasn't been _that_ long.”

“Since that fling or whatever you had, with Ariel? It's over six months.”

“Actually, five months.”

“Whatever. What about that guy you were dating, before? He was hot.”

“Nathan? He was... okay. But it didn't work out.”

“So what? You've still got his number, right? Give a him a booty call.”

“Okay, _sure_. Because that won't make me seem at all desperate.” Sanji laced his reply with as much sarcasm as he could muster.

“Sanji, it's New Year's. Everyone who has a halfway decent shot at it will be slamming the sheets with somebody. Grab some action, why don't you.”

“Thanks for the pep talk.”

“I'm serious. You're bisexual, that means you get at least twice the opportunities to get laid. Take advantage.”

 

 

Sanji let out a long sigh. “Would it be tedious of me to point out that promiscuity is just one of the many stereotypical assumptions that reinforces negative prejudices against bisexuals?”

“Yes.” Nami snorted. “I'm not being biphobic, you dolt. I'm telling you to have some fun.”

“Thanks. I'll bear it in mind, while I'm working my ass off behind a bar for ten hours.”

“What will your ass be wearing, while you're working it? Something tight ought to help get people's attention.”

“It's a smart gig. I've got to look presentable.”

“Mm... The turquoise shirt, right?”

“Yeah. How'd you know?”

“You look killer in it.” Nami sounded satisfied. “Okay. Go forth and pour drinks. And bat those eyelashes.”

 

 

After that they exchanged happy wishes for New Year's Eve one more time, before Nami rang off. Sanji dropped the phone on the couch, folded his arms across his stomach and lay motionless for a while gazing up at the ceiling. His mood, which wasn’t exactly stellar before the phone call, hadn't lifted much after the banter with Nami. Part of him had wanted to blow off the crappy bar job and agree to meet up with her, go out for a wild night of partying. Forget about his lousy financial situation and lack of anything looking like a good prospect on the horizon, just for one night.

_Not an option._ He knew that if he fucked over the agency by not showing up for work, that would pretty much guarantee he wouldn't get anything else from them. Not to mention the whole needing to pay the rent issue... Because while he would have been willing to let Nami loan him some cash for a night out, there was no way he was asking her for anything more than that.

 

 

_\- Sanji, you have to get your life back on track._

Nami's words echoed in his mind. _Understatement of the fucking year._ He wondered how it was things had gone so wrong. He'd had it all planned out, from the day he'd left Zeff's kitchen. He'd started out as a commis chef in a hotel, refining his skills and learning as much as he could. Within a year he'd graduated to chef de partie, taking responsibility for specific stations in turn. Then the chance had come to work at L'Escargot Blanc, with his ambitions set on making sous-chef within another year... Or so he'd hoped.

_I'm not giving up._ That was what was really making him grit his teeth and do shitwork like this bartending job tonight. Because the alternative was to be a quitter, and that was one thing he definitely wasn't. Whatever it took, however long it took, he was going to make it back into a decent kitchen and be the kind of chef he knew he could be. That would be a New Year’s resolution worth keeping, for sure... Although Sanji didn’t believe in resolutions, not least because for most people they seemed to consist of wish fulfilment rather than resolve. But maybe it was what he needed, right now. Instead of his daily mental tick list of uninspiring chores, tedious reasons to get out of bed: one actual ambition that meant something. Meant fucking _everything_.

Even when he’d still been working for his old man, he’d known what he wanted. To work at being the best chef he could be; learn as quickly as he could, in the best kitchens. And ultimately, set up his own place. Somewhere on the coast, overlooking the sea. Simple elegant interior, big picture windows, lots of natural light. A menu that had both classic dishes and his own creations, using ingredients that were distinctive, seasonal, local. Lots of seafood. He even had a name planned for it: _Tout Bleu_.

It was his dream. What he wanted most from life. And to make it happen, he’d had to let a lot of other stuff go. Working the kind of antisocial hours required of a chef played havoc with your social life: most friends had found Sanji’s unavailability at weekends and evenings too difficult to square with their own urges to party till the small hours. The few people who stuck with him, where the friendship was solid, like Nami... Sanji could count those on the fingers of one hand. And for dating it was the same problem. He didn’t _want_ to be on his own, but that was just how it worked out. Nami could joke about him hooking up with someone while he was working, and for sure he’d had offers. He’d even acted on some of them, because when he’d done a long and dull catering shift for minimum wage then the idea of once again returning home to eat alone in an empty apartment had little allure. A night of shared warmth and - hopefully - good sex was worth the potentially awkward morning-after-the-one-night-stand. Usually.

 

 

The alarm on his phone chimed, signalling it was time for him to get his shit together for work. Sanji reached for the phone and turned the alarm off, before getting up off the couch.

_Okay. Get through the last crappy day of this crappy year. Start the new one fresh. Things can only get better. Life back on track. That’s the program._

He shoved every other thought away into his subconscious, hopefully to stay there. Headed towards his bedroom to change into his working clothes; pocketed his wallet, phone, keys, lighter and remaining two cigarettes and was out the apartment door in under fifteen minutes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... This is a New Year's Eve story being posted now rather than actually at New Year because basically a ton of other boring work-related stuff got in the way while I was thinking about writing it. Never done a modern AU setting before... Hope it works. It was partly inspired by all the crappy New Year's Eve jobs I've ever had to do, entertaining drunk and obnoxious people with a smile on my face whilst secretly wishing they would all just go home. Festive spirit, eh...
> 
> And if you're wondering where a certain green-haired individual is, don't worry: he shows up in the next chapter. Which will of course make Sanji's New Year's Eve infinitely more enjoyable. Or possibly not.


	2. Not Going Home Till I'm Done

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You want an ice bucket for chilling the sake?”
> 
> “It's fine the way it is.” The green-haired guy took another mouthful from his glass. 
> 
> Sanji turned away to the cash till. “Right. I wouldn't want to slow you down. Anything else I can get you?”
> 
> The guy regarded him steadily. He’d already drained his glass: one hand held it lightly, resting on the bar. “If there is, you'll be the first to know.”

* * *

 

_This scene is dead, but I'm still restless_  
_An hour or so until last call, I guess_  
_I shouldn't even be here, much less_  
_Drinking myself into excess_  
_I'm not going home till I'm done  
_

_\- We Are Scientists  
_

 

* * *

 

 

Halfway through his pre-work induction, Sanji was losing the will to live.

“...And also don’t forget that we're running a special offer on cocktails till midnight, so make sure you promote that to each customer. Draw their attention to the board over there and direct them towards the jug promotions, aim to upsell because tonight as you can imagine is an important night for us, we'll be looking to optimize our customer targets.” The manager fixed Sanji with her efficient gaze. “Remember at all times: it's about swift and stylish service, maximizing merchandising, and giving each customer a high-quality experience that will keep them coming back for more. Our demographic expects excellence, and that's what you'll be delivering.”

_I'm pretty sure your demographic will be expecting alcohol in quantity, period._ Sanji tried to look enthusiastic and attentive as the immaculately made-up woman in what looked like a Vivienne Westwood suit ran through her corporate pep-talk... Although mostly he was taking in the layout of the bar and the immediate area of the club around it.

Club Greedy was pretty much what he’d expected: lots of polished metal and glass surfaces, a large dance floor with a raised stage for DJs, and several bars on both the main level where the dance floor was and also on an upper mezzanine. The bars on this upper level were surrounded by lounging areas with low dark wood tables flanked by cushioned seating, a place for customers to chillax and enjoy the atmosphere. Or so the club manager said. Sanji mentally translated that as _get wasted and try to score before midnight_. It turned out that one of the bars on this upper level was going to be his station. At least it was further from the dance floor (good, less shouting to be heard over relentless electronica) although the size of the club and number of tables suggested he was going to be kept busy.

 

 

“So, that’s about it for your induction.” The manager looked at him expectantly, tapping smartly on her clipboard with one elegantly manicured finger. “Any questions?”

Sanji dragged his attention back into the here and now. He was pretty sure he hadn’t missed anything important. Not asking a question wouldn’t look good, like he didn’t give a fuck. And while he _didn’t_ give a fuck about whatever half-assed corporate crap the manager had been spouting, he didn’t want her to know that. “Well, hmm.” Sanji pretended to consider a moment, looking studious. “I guess you’re expecting a really big crowd in here tonight. Is it ticketed entry only?”

“Absolutely.” She nodded emphatically. “Club Greedy New Year’s Eve tickets have been sold out for the last three weeks, including our premier fast-track VIP entry tickets. We’ll have a capacity crowd of five hundred customers. You can expect to be very busy, Sanji – especially between eleven pm and two am. I hope you have stamina!” She smiled at him, with her teeth slightly bared.

Sanji smiled back, infusing his expression with charm. “I’m totally up for the challenge. You can count on me, Monica.” Using her name won him brownie points: he saw her relax a little from her predator stance.

“That’s what I like to hear.” She gave a single nod, before handing him the clipboard with its several sheets of paper. “This is your checklist for prepping and stocking up. If anything is missing or running low dial 55 on the internal phone and have housekeeping bring more up. Ditto for the duration of your shift. Should you need to contact me - ” her tone made it abundantly clear that she didn’t envisage a situation where that would be necessary “ – dial 77. And lastly, we do have an exclusive door policy and responsible attitude towards alcohol consumption here at Club Greedy; but in the unlikely event that club security needs to get involved to resolve an issue with a difficult customer, dial 99.”

Sanji nodded. Monica checked her slim and expensive wristwatch. “Okay, doors open in just under forty minutes. Better get to it. Let’s make this a night to remember for our customers.”

 

 

Sanji suspected that for the majority of people coming through Club Greedy’s doors tonight, remembering the following day what they’d done on New Year’s Eve was probably going to be an elusive goal. Once Monica had walked off to harass some other member of staff, he bent his attention to the task of getting the bar ready for business. As well as the usual spirits, mixers and wine there was a surprisingly wide selection of drinks behind the polished wood counter, including all manner of liqueurs, speciality drinks, and beers with micro-brewery labels. Once Sanji had methodically run through his prepping checklist he took some time to familiarise himself with some of the more unusual drinks, along with the bar’s layout. At least there was decent space to move about behind the counter, and all the hardware looked pretty new and in good condition. The lighting was okay too – a definite plus for a nightclub, where usually you were working in stygian gloom.

The phone on the back wall of the bar rang: Sanji paused for a moment, then considered that as he was the only person there he ought to pick up. He lifted the receiver. “Hello?”

Monica’s efficient tones greeted him. “Are you all set, Sanji? We open in five.”

“Yes. Everything’s good to go.”

“Great. Remember, keep an eye on your stock levels. Anything starts running low, make sure you call housekeeping promptly to resupply. We don’t want to keep any of our customers waiting.”

“Absolutely.” Sanji hoped this was the last managerial instruction he was going to get that evening. It was going to be pretty damn busy, the last thing he needed was Monica checking on him every hour to make sure he was meeting her exacting standards.

“Okay, Sanji. Enjoy being part of the Club Greedy team.” She rang off.

_Gee, thanks._ Sanji replaced the phone back on the hook, rolling his eyes slightly.

 

 

Despite it being New Year’s Eve, only a few clubbers showed up in the first hour. The early-night DJ started his set and a pulse of music drifted up to where a few dozen people lounged around tables, trying not to look anxious about having arrived unfashionably early. To take the edge off they hit the bar and Sanji served a steady trickle of party-goers. As things got busier larger groups began showing up, possessing tables and ordering shots and jugs of cocktails: the volume of both the people and the music began to rise.

Once he was in the swing of it, Sanji found his jaded mood lifting a little. It wasn’t like the work was difficult, and it was too early yet for customers to be drunk and obnoxious. The club’s upmarket clientele was a sea of designer labels and trendy clubbing gear. There were some seriously stunning women, and not a few guys that were worth a second look too. He made a smooth production of mixing cocktails, pouring drinks, working with a charming smile and easy conversation where customers seemed to want it; or speedy and quiet service where they were obviously more interested in their friends than in the bartender.

 

 

The first DJ’s set ended and with the next one taking over the music hiked up a gear. Many of the tables on the upper level emptied as punters headed downstairs to dance. Sanji took advantage of the slight lull to wipe down the bar and run his eye over the stock. Everything was still looking good, for now. He checked his watch: he’d been working a little over two hours. The club was starting to warm up now that the dance floor was getting more action.

Sanji reached for a tumbler and dropped a couple of chunks of ice into it, before filling it with mineral water: took a sip. More than one customer had already offered to buy him a drink, but he knew better than to accept. That was the surest way to fuck up behind a bar, by sampling the merchandise. Not to mention that it had been made very clear to him in the induction that Club Greedy employees were not permitted to drink alcohol while on duty. He’d rather take his tips in cash, anyway... And as the evening warmed up and so did the clientele, tips were starting to flow fairly freely.

The sparkling water’s chill felt pleasant as he swallowed. He turned a little as he stood, the glass at his lips, checking to see if any customers were heading in the direction of the bar. The upper level crowd had thinned out significantly, people still heading for the stairs that led down to the dance floor. Maybe he would get a little downtime, now that the music was pulling the clubbers in.

Some of the people at the top of the stairs parted, to allow a solitary figure through who was bucking the trend: heading upwards to the top level against the tide of wannabe dancers. As Sanji watched idly, still sipping his water, the single figure shouldered his way through the other clubbers and gained the comparative space of the upper level. The light brought the figure out of silhouette and into focus: Sanji noted with an amused twitch of his lips that the guy was sporting dyed hair, coloured a lurid green.

_Either that’s some kind of ironic fashion statement... Or that guy’s sense of style is terminally brain-damaged._ Sanji suspected the latter.

 

 

The man looked around his surroundings until his gaze fell on the bar, whereupon he started to head purposefully towards it.

_Look’s like my break’s over._ Sanji set his glass of water down with an imperceptible sigh and straightened up into an attentive stance, bringing a welcoming smile onto his face. As the man reached the bar Sanji tried and failed to make eye contact: the green-haired guy barely glanced at him before propping both elbows on the counter and scanning the shelves behind it with apparent concentration.

Sanji drifted to a halt a couple of feet away from the man, making it obvious that he was there and ready to serve a drink without being obtrusive. _Don't crowd the customers._ Another bullshit service rule, the theory being that people didn't like to feel pressured into making a decision. He waited with his welcoming smile, which was starting to feel somewhat fixed. The guy appeared to be studying the racks of bottles lined up behind the bar, a slight frown pulling his brows down.

 

 

_It's all alcohol, asshole. Like it's going to make a difference what you drink in this place, it's all going to cost you top dollar._ Sanji tried not to let his impatience show, but after another half minute had passed he decided that maybe Green Hair needed a little helpful prompting. “What can I get you?”

The guy turned to look at Sanji, the frown deepening. “Huh?”

_Wasn't a trick question, idiot._ Sanji gestured expansively at the bar, still keeping the customer-friendly smile on his face. “Beer? Shots? We're doing a New Year's Eve special on cocktails, anything from our board half-price up to midnight - ”

Green Hair looked slightly disgusted. “No thanks. I don't drink that sickly shit.”

_Figures. And such a charming manner, too._ Sanji widened his smile to show his teeth slightly. “Okay. Let me know if there's anything you see up there that you  do like.” That was borderline bad attitude that would get him canned if the management saw it, but there was something about this guy that had managed to rub Sanji the wrong way already, within the half-minute he'd been interacting with him. Some snotty rich asshole, this place was full of them. The guy’s skin was tan, from winter sun somewhere expensive no doubt. He looked Japanese or Korean maybe: dressed in a dark suit and open-necked shirt. Sanji gestured expansively at the bar behind him. “We carry a full drinks selection. Something for everyone.” _Even surly assholes like you._

 

 

The man's eyes met his for a long moment, as if assessing the bartender. Then one corner of his mouth hitched up briefly, before he let out a short breath that sounded both amused and dismissive. “You got any halfway decent sake stashed back there?”

Sanji had worked long enough in the restaurant and hospitality industry to have encountered enough arrogant assholes to populate their own country. There were two basic strategies for handling them: either kiss ass, or be equally rude. He'd never really got the hang of ass-kissing. “That depends on what you're after, I guess.” He folded his arms, regarding the guy with a mock-helpful expression. “Sake bomb?” This particular fad had been big the last year, especially with a certain class of students who were 'into' Japanese culture, or at least what they thought was Japanese culture.

Green Hair looked at him askance. “Do I look like a tourist?”

_No, dipshit – you look like an idiot who doesn't know that green hair dye quit being fashionable about the same time that punk rock died._ Sanji shrugged. “Okay then. Straight up. Heated?”

“If the sake you serve here is so bad then that's the only way you can sell it, sure.” Green Hair gave him a challenging stare.

_Fuck with this._ Sanji was tired of people assuming that everyone who worked behind a bar had minimal intelligence. He was a goddamn chef, and he knew more about food and drink than this Neanderthal. “As it happens, we have a reasonable mid-range futsū-shu, or a high-end tokutei meishō-shu... for the discerning customer.”

The man leaned his folded arms on the bar top, not apparently much impressed by Sanji's expertise. “Give me the strongest one you've got.”

This was familiar territory. _I don't care what I drink, as long as it gets me shitfaced quick._ So this guy just wanted to pursue the traditional festive New Year's activity of slaughtering whatever limited braincells he had by downing stupid amounts of alcohol. Although doing it by drinking designer sake was going to strip his wallet big time. Sanji could care less. He moved to the far end of the bar where the speciality drinks were kept, moving various liquors aside until he found what he was looking for. He picked up a green glass bottle and brought it back down the bar, setting it down in front of his annoying customer. “A classic genshu. Very dry, complex yet balanced. High octane, but still a really smooth clean finish.”

Green Hair read the black and gold label. “Wakatake Ginjo Onikoroshi.” That sardonic lift to the corner of his mouth again, the provocative half-grin. “Yeah, why not. Seems fitting.”

 

 

Sanji reached for a glass, uncapped the bottle and poured. The Japanese words had rolled easily off the guy's tongue, followed by that odd comment. Like it was some sake drinkers' in-joke. In spite of himself, Sanji was piqued. He didn't want to give Green Hair the satisfaction of asking him directly what the deal was, though. Instead he waited until the man had taken his first sip, before asking, “One you've tried before?”

“No.” The man had narrowed his eyes slightly at the taste, although not in a bad way. His gaze flicked up to Sanji. “It's okay, though.”

_At fifteen bucks a hit it ought to be._ “Great.” Sanji reached for the sake to return it to the shelf – but the guy gave a half-shake of his head. “Leave the bottle.”

_You're shitting me._ Sanji rested one finger on the bottle's cap. “This whole bottle'll cost you a hundred and twenty dollars.”

“Fine.” At Sanji's raised eyebrow, Green Hair shoved one hand into his jacket and took out his wallet: extracted some bills and dropped them onto the bar. “That covers it. I’d like another sake glass, too. And some beer. You got any Asahi Super Dry?”

“Yeah.” Sanji slowly took his finger off the sake bottle and picked up the money instead.

Green Hair nodded at the bills in his hand. “Then I’ll take one of those as well.”

_Like I thought. Project Get Shitfaced Soonest._ Sanji kept a neutral expression on his face. “Right. You want an ice bucket for chilling the sake?”

“It's fine the way it is.” The guy took another mouthful from his glass.

Sanji turned away to the cash till. “Right. I wouldn't want to slow you down.” He was pushing his luck with this comment, he knew: but he'd had about enough of the man's surly attitude. Keeping his back turned he took his time about opening a bottle of Asahi and pouring it meticulously slowly into a glass, before returning to the bar and setting it in front of his annoying customer, along with a second sake glass. “Anything else I can get you?”

 

 

The guy regarded him steadily. He’d drained his glass: one hand held it lightly, resting on the bar. “If there is, you'll be the first to know.”

Sanji was about to turn away again, but the urge to see if he could extract one more response from the crappy heap of moss-headed attitude on the other side of the bar got the better of him. It was going to be a long night, so he wanted to make it abundantly clear to this moron that he didn't plan on being talked down to. “Glad to be of service.” His tone was laced with irony. “Incidentally, and purely out of professional interest - ” _Because in no way do I give a shit about you and your hundred and twenty dollar drinking habits_ “ - The name of this particular brand of sake: has it got some kind of special significance?”

The dark eyes rested on him for a moment longer. Then the man lifted one forefinger and tapped briefly on the bottle's label. “I'm guessing you don't speak Japanese.”

“Not apart from what I need to cook Japanese cuisine, no.” Sanji felt his irritation kindling again at the lingual put-down. “But I speak fluent French, passable Spanish, and a little Italian, so hey: I get by.”

The guy remained unimpressed by Sanji's abilities. “Then allow me to translate.” He traced his finger right to left across the two Japanese characters printed large enough to almost fill the bottle's label, a graphic representation of ink-brushed calligraphy. “Oni – koroshi.” He let his hand rest back on the bar, his eyes glancing back up to Sanji. “'Demon Killer'.”

Sanji snorted. “That's some recommendation.”

“Whatever.” The guy's gaze switched away: he turned sideways on to the bar, picking up his beer with one hand and the sake bottle and two smaller glasses with the other before walking to a table a few yards away.

Sanji narrowed his eyes. _Crap. At least go sit somewhere I can’t see you, you miserable bastard._ He watched as the man refilled his own glass, then poured the second small glass full of sake too. _Expecting company. Huh. Someone’s in for a fun evening._

Fortunately at that moment a trio of women appeared at the top of the stairs and headed for the bar, laughing with each other. Sanji brightened, turning to face his new customers. “Good evening, ladies. What can I serve you?”

 

 

The night wore on. The music got louder, the temperature hotter, despite the club’s air con. Sanji loosened his tie slightly: that was all he could do to accommodate the heat, as his pre-work induction had included a strict lecture about the importance of appearing smartly dressed at all times. Which meant no rolled-up sleeves.

The dance floor was filling up in the run up to midnight, as were the tables and seating areas on the upper level. Sometimes Sanji had several people lined up at the bar: he worked efficiently to get the drinks out with the minimum of delay, but as clubbers grew more numerous and more inebriated he had to make full use of his skills at remaining calm under pressure. You didn’t get to be a chef de partie in a top kitchen if you folded under stress: getting a dozen dishes out to the pass in a dinner rush was good training for tending a bar on New Year’s Eve. Of course in a kitchen you rarely had to deal with the customers face to face. Here it was all about customer interaction, and there was definitely a close relationship between blood alcohol levels and obnoxiousness.

Sanji served people in turn; charmed the friendly; soothed the impatient; kept his orders straight and change accurate. Ice and bottled beers were running low so he made a quick call to housekeeping for more, pinning the phone between ear and shoulder as he pressed shot glasses up against the optics that ran along the back wall of the bar.

As the zero hour of midnight approached, the noise levels of the clubbers partying round tables rivalled the music. One table in particular, a crowd of half a dozen guys in their twenties not far from the bar, was loud enough that other clubbers were starting to give them a wide berth. Sanji had been serving them shots since they’d arrived a couple of hours back, and he’d been keeping half an eye on the table when the flow of traffic at the bar allowed it. They hadn’t done anything especially outrageous yet: mainly lots of obnoxious yelling and occasionally trying to wheedle passing women to join them. But they might be trouble later on. He watched them out of the corner of one eye as he slid two drinks across the bar to one customer and handed them their change.

 

 

“Oi.” A low yet insistent voice made Sanji look in the other direction. The green-haired guy from earlier was leaning on the bar. “Another Asahi.”

_Would it kill you to say ‘Please’, you moss-headed jerk?_ Sanji tightened his jaw to stop the words from coming out, and instead turned and got another Asahi out of one of the fridges at the back of the bar. He took a childish but nonetheless comforting satisfaction in pouring it sloppily, so the beer got a frothy head on it that swelled and dribbled over the edge of the glass. Picking it up he plunked it down on the bar in front of the moss-head. “Five dollars.”

The man already had a bill in his hand: he dropped it onto the top of the bar. “Thanks.” With his other hand he picked up the glass. Regarding its spilling head he narrowed his eyes slightly, then dealt with it by raising it and taking a mouthful.

 

 

A loud crash sounded nearby, from the direction of the table of rowdies. At the bar the guy’s head turned sharply, his shoulders tensing. Sanji looked in the direction of the ruckus, to see one of the yahoos over there picking himself up off the floor... Evidently having fallen off a table he’d been doing some kind of moronic acrobatic stunt on. There was maniacal laughter from his friends, but no-one was shouting and it didn’t seem like any glasses had gotten broken.

Sanji drew his gaze back to the bar. The moss-head was still watching the antics a few yards away, his brows pulled down into a deeply unfriendly expression. Sanji noticed a flicker of light: three slivers of gold hanging down from the man’s left earlobe, bright against the tanned skin of his neck. The sight sparked a mild feeling of intrigue, the first time Sanji had felt something other than antipathy towards the surly customer. Then Sanji’s gaze dropped to where the guy’s free hand rested on the bar. The fingers were clenched into a fist.

_Uh oh._ Sanji looked back up at the guy’s face and stance. At the spread of the broad shoulders under the dark shirt. Noted that he was really built. Which was... not unappealing to look at, but on a more immediate note, there was something predatory in the way he was frowning at the rowdies at their nearby table. And Sanji really didn’t want any trouble on his watch. He decided to run interference. “Hmm... Kind of a noisy bunch over there, huh.” The man at the bar turned his head back and met his gaze: Sanji gave a slight smile. “Unfortunately I can’t do a hell of a lot about it. But with any luck they’ll drink themselves stupid and pass out sometime after midnight.”

The man narrowed his eyes slightly, before giving a short dismissive shake of his head. “Some people don’t have as far to go to stupid as others.”

Sanji smiled wryly, acknowledging the truth of it. “For sure. I guess all the rest of us can do is stay out of their way.” He didn’t mean it to sound like a heavy-handed hint, but he was pretty sure the guy would get the message.

Moss-head frowned again, before picking up his beer. “I’ll stay out of their way if they stay out of mine.”

 

 

_Oh please. Let’s not have some macho pissing contest in here tonight. I’ve only got five more hours to work, it would be really nice to get through them without having to call security and sweep up a shitload of broken glassware._ Sanji wondered how to rephrase his subtle hint in less subtle tones, but at that moment a couple of women appeared at the bar, empty glasses in hand. “Mm, hey – we’re dry here.” They both laughed.

Sanji slid smoothly into charm mode. “Well, beautiful ladies, that can swiftly be remedied. Allow me to help you back to a state of liquidity.” He favoured them both with an enchanting smile. “Just tell me how I can serve you... And I’ll hurry to ensure your _complete_ satisfaction.”

They laughed again and the one who’d spoken, a drop-dead gorgeous Latina-looking woman with liquid brown eyes, leaned over the bar as if trying to study what was there... incidentally ensuring that she gave Sanji a decent view of her luscious cleavage. “Oh, _such_ a gentleman,” she purred. “Hmm... Two vodka tonics, with _lots_ of ice.”

“Coming right up, ladies.” Sanji favoured them both with another heart-melting smile, before turning to fix their drinks. As he did so his gaze travelled over the green-haired man who was still at the bar. The man was now regarding him with a scornful expression. Sanji felt his hackles prickle and for a moment he lost his professional cool: pausing for half a second he met the disdainful eyes with a glare of his own. _Lose the attitude or get the fuck out of my face, asshole._

The dark gaze held his for a moment longer – then the guy turned away and sloped back to his table with his beer. Sanji sent a final mental dagger at his retreating back, before turning his attention back onto mixing drinks.

 

 

The zero hour of midnight drew closer. There was a heavy demand at the bar, no-one wanting to be caught at the magic moment without a drink... Or worse still, queuing for one. Sanji sweated and pushed the orders out, just managing to stay ahead. When the club echoed with the sound of the DJ yelling it was midnight and the answering roar of the punters, he even had a minute to stand at the counter with his glass of mineral water in his hand and toast in the New Year with everyone else. He lifted his glass in a token gesture, silently invoking whatever powers might be taking notice. _Out with the old, in the new. Make this the year things finally go right._

Sipping his water, he thought of Nami. No doubt partying her ass off somewhere loud and fun, surrounded by admirers. The image pulled a smile onto his face, and he raised his glass again in a second toast to her. _To friends. Because if you want to survive this crappy amusement ride called life, you gotta have good people with you._

All around clubbers were cheering, shouting, singing, drinking, hugging, kissing. The crowd shifted as people moved from table to table, embracing friends, grabbing strangers. Making use of that customary New Year’s Eve midnight laissez-faire to get up close and personal. Everyone taking advantage of the possibility of getting a little seasonal action.

Well, not quite everyone. As a gap opened up in the crowd, Sanji got a view of the table near the bar where the green-haired guy was. He was still sitting, not joining in with the antics around him. As Sanji watched, the guy reached out and picked up his sake glass. He appeared to be gazing at the other glass of sake, which still stood full in front of him on the table. Slowly he touched his glass to the rim of the other; lifted his glass for a moment, as if in a toast; then brought it to his mouth and knocked the sake back in one swallow.

 

 

_Looks like someone’s date didn’t show._ Sanji almost felt sorry for the moss-head. Being stood up on New Year’s Eve, that blew big time. But on the other hand, the guy was in a nightclub with five hundred warm bodies, a good half of whom were probably looking to get lucky. It wasn’t like there was a lack of opportunities for solace.

Moss-head wasn’t looking particularly enticing though, it had to be said. His face was set in a bleakly sober expression, a bizarre contrast to the partying clubbers around him. Reaching for the sake bottle he refilled his glass: picked it up and drained it again.

The crowd eddied and shifted, and Sanji lost his line of view. Which was probably just as well. It was New Year’s Eve, the mood should be all kinds of happy and hopeful and filled with optimism. He only had a few more hours of his shift to work, the tips had been flowing pretty generously, and now the old year was done he could leave all his fuck-ups behind. Like Nami said, this was the year he was getting his life back on track. No doubt about it.


	3. Some Say You're Trouble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sanji silently counted to ten before walking back behind the bar. Once there he picked up the phone and called housekeeping; hung up, then grabbed his glass of water and took a long drink, finally setting the empty glass back down with a hand that was hardly shaking at all.

* * *

 

_Some say you're trouble, boy_  
_Just because you like to destroy_  
_All the things that bring the idiots joy_  
_Well, what's wrong with a little destruction?_  
_\- Franz Ferdinand_

 

* * *

 

 

After the midnight high, the club’s clientele settled down into more determined drinking and dancing. Sanji collected empty glasses and served a steady flow of customers, providing a listening ear for women grown gushily emotional and men who propped themselves unsteadily on the bar. His back was starting to ache a little, from the reaching to fetch drinks from under-counter fridges or high shelves. He did shoulder rolls, eased his neck from side to side. This was always the hardest part of a long shift, the ass-end of it. And unfortunately now was also the point at which customers became the crappiest. Drunk enough that they mixed up their orders, then accused him of getting them wrong. Or impatiently rude when their drinks didn’t arrive instantly. Some of them worse enough for wear that they clearly didn’t need more alcohol, but were going to have it anyway.

The rowdy table reached a new pitch of volume, as the guys there returned from the dance floor and launched into a round of drinking games. Sanji kept a weather eye on them, until a rush of customers at the bar forced him to turn his focus fully onto serving.

He finished working through a complicated order for a blurry-eyed foursome (actually two couples, who had evidently gone through the euphoric stage of drunkenness and were now firmly entering the argumentative phase) and just had a few seconds to wipe down the counter when a familiar face hove into view.

“I’ll take another Asahi.” Moss-head with one elbow propped on the bar, money already folded between his fingers.

“Be right there.” Sanji dropped his cloth into the sink under the bar, wheeled to the fridge behind and took out another bottle. He poured it into a glass – this time without the vengeful head on it, he was feeling marginally more charitable towards the moss-head after having seen his midnight isolation – turned back and placed it on the bar, taking the money.

“Thanks.” The guy raised the glass to his lips and took a swallow. Just for a second, Sanji found himself watching the way his Adam’s apple moved in the long tanned throat.

 

 

“Hey, barkeep!” A loud voice sounded at his elbow. Sanji switched his gaze, to see one of the crapheads from the rowdy table propped on the bar. When the man saw he’d got Sanji’s attention, he grinned, gesturing at the optics at the back of the bar. “Another round of tequila shots for me and my buddies. And make it snappy.”

“Coming right up.” Sanji lined up the glasses on a tray on the counter, along with a small dish of salt and some lime wedges. As he began pouring the tequila, the customer turned round to wave at his friends, who hollered insults. “Yeah, yeah, I’m getting them in, you wasters!” the guy yelled back. “Have some fuckin’ patience!” He gestured expansively in what was meant to be Sanji’s direction. “Soon as blondie here shifts out of low gear we’ll be back in the game!”

Sanji’s eyes narrowed, but he concentrated on pouring. The guy turned back round to check on his progress: in doing so he lurched unsteadily, made a drunken grab at the bar and missed, and wound up falling against the next solid object... Which happened to be the green-haired man. “Ah, oops! Ha...” The rowdy guy straightened up, laughing. “Shit, can’t see where I’m putting my feet. You want to turn up the lighting in here, barkeep.”

Sanji’s gaze had gone to the moss-head. The man had been jolted hard by the other guy falling against him, spilling most of his beer over himself.

_Oh, crap._ Sanji saw the green-haired man carefully place his now almost empty glass back on the bar. Then he turned his head and regarded the guy next to him with a steady look.

 

 

It took a moment for that dark gaze to register with the drunken clubber next to him, but after a few seconds it did. The guy quit laughing, although his face stayed locked in a careless grin. “Whoa, huh... Didn’t see you there.” His gaze flicked up to moss-head’s hair, and the grin widened. “Thought you were part of the plant decor.”

Sanji closed his eyes, very briefly. When he opened them again, the moss-head was still regarding the other guy steadily. After a couple of seconds of silence, he spoke. “I could see how someone of your limited mental powers might make that kind of mistake.”

“Fuck you say?” The drunk guy went from amused to outraged in an instant.

Moss-head continued to look at him. “It’s late and you’re drunk, so I’ll spell it out for you. You can apologise and walk away and continue getting shitfaced with your annoying friends. Or you can act like a dick and walk away and continue getting shitfaced with your annoying friends. I don’t give a fuck either way, as long as you walk away.”

“Who the _fuck_ you think you are?” The guy stepped forward aggressively, getting right into moss-head’s face, looking from the green hair to the three earrings. “Shit, no wonder you’ve been sitting on your lonesome at that table all fuckin’ evening, you green-haired freak. If you don’t want to party, go someplace else!” He raised one hand and shoved the other man hard in the chest, his other hand clenching into a fist.

 

 

Sanji was about to intervene by saying something spectacularly useful like _Hey now break it up_ , but was pre-empted when the green-haired man moved so fast he blurred. In fact Sanji didn’t even see _how_ he moved. One minute the drunken clubber was shoving moss-head in the chest: the next the clubber was bent face-down on the bar with the green-haired man holding him in some kind of military-grade arm lock that had him howling.

“Whoa, hold up - ” Sanji did manage to find his voice then. “We don’t want any trouble in here, let’s cool it down before someone gets hurt - ”

“No trouble.” Moss-head spoke in a low, quite calm voice. “And I’m not hurting him.” At another howl from the guy he was pinning to the bar, one corner of his mouth twitched. “Much.”

There was a scraping of chairs and raised voices. Sanji looked out over the bar: the drunk’s companions had spotted their friend’s predicament and were getting to their feet.

_Oh crap. So much for getting through this night without having to deal with trouble._ He gestured with his thumb in the direction of the mustering forces. “Hey, if I were you - I’d let him go, before his friends get involved. Also: I’m calling security.”

The moss-head gave a single assessing look at the men heading in his direction, before shooting Sanji a shark-like grin. “Call in the cavalry if you want, curly-brow.” With apparently minimal effort he pulled the whimpering guy up from the bar counter and sent him lurching onto his ass on the floor. Then he turned to face the oncomers.

 

_Curly-brow?!?_ For several seconds, Sanji’s ability to think straight was short-circuited by a blast of pure rage. _Did that fucking moss-headed asshole just call me ‘ curly-brow’?_

The crash of a chair going over sideways pulled him back into practicality. The green-haired man had been rushed by two of the rowdy crew, and had floored one and sent the other staggering into the furniture. Sanji blinked, reached for the phone on the back wall, and dialled 99. After the buzz of the ringing tone, a voice responded. “Security.”

“Uh, this is Sanji, upper level bar two. We have a – situation here.”

“A situation?” The voice sounded unimpressed.

“Half a dozen guys beating the shit out of each other,” Sanji clarified.

“We’ll send a team right up.” The phone clicked dead, and Sanji replaced the receiver on the hook. That done, he walked around the open end of the bar and stood for a moment uncertainly watching the scene, chewing slightly on the inside of his lip. _Beating the shit out of each other_ would have been the truth, except that strictly speaking, the moss-head was doing most of the actual beating. He was circled by at least half a dozen pissed off and drink-fuelled guys eager to mix it up, but he was holding them off. Not only that, he looked as though he was hardly breaking a sweat doing it. They were throwing punches and trying to grab hold of him, yet he was handling their onslaught as though they were moving in slow motion.

 

 

With a change of tactics three of the wannabe-fighters rushed the moss-head at once, two pinning his arms while a third swung a punch that actually connected with the man’s head. Sanji saw him swing with the punch and use that momentum to shake off the two on his arms, before coming back round and delivering a left-handed haymaker to the guy who’d hit him that knocked his attacker backwards and through a table.

Sanji blinked. Notwithstanding that this was a bar fight with significant amounts of glassware and furniture being trashed and quite a lot of shrieking and cursing now going on, it was kind of fascinating to watch. The green-haired man’s impressive effectiveness as a fighter had its own kind of poetry which you could almost appreciate. If you were an uninvolved bystander.

The punch the green-haired man had taken to the side of his head hadn’t slowed him any, but it had evidently broken skin: a trickle of blood started to spread down from above his left eye. He blinked, then paused to wipe at the blood with one hand. As he did so, the dickhead who’d been the original cause of the whole fray decided to pick that moment to re-enter the fight. He snatched up the sake bottle from the nearby table and zeroed in on the moss-head from behind, swinging the bottle overarm to deliver a blow to the back of the green-haired man’s head.

 

 

_Fucking cheap shot!_

Sanji moved away from the bar before the guy’s hand finished swinging the bottle back, launching a kick that took him in the ribs and pile-drove him backwards over a table and into a watching crowd of clubbers. Who squealed and got out of the way fast, allowing the dickhead to plough a furrow in the floor while the sake bottle fell and smashed.

The moss-head looked round sharply at the noise and saw that Sanji had entered the fray. He frowned momentarily at the bartender before the distraction of another combined frontal attack forced him to concentrate on the job in hand. A job which Sanji was now also embroiled in.

Sanji faced one of the drunks rushing at him, and dodged the wild punch easily before flooring the guy with another kick. His blood thumped in his ears; the music and the yells and screams of the crowd and the ache in his back and the irritations of the night were gone, submerged in a tide of adrenalin. He blocked another guy and sent him backwards: and then suddenly there was a lull and he and the moss-head were standing close together and there were several former combatants groaning on the floor and a cautiously wide circle of watching clubbers. And pushing through them, six burly security guards.

_Oh, yeah._ Sanji had forgotten he’d made that call.

 

 

One of the security guards took the lead: he gestured at the casualties on the floor, and the couple of recovering combatants who were pulling themselves upright using the furniture. “Get these yahoos up and out of here.” His gaze travelled to the green-haired man, who was eyeing the security guards as if they were his next challenge. “And you’re outta here too, fella. Wanna come quietly, or have my boys here carry you out?”

The moss-head snorted, one corner of his mouth pulling up. “I can walk, thanks.” He swiped absently at the trickle of blood that was tracking down the side of his face, before stepping forwards and past the waiting security men.

The first security guard turned to Sanji. “And you.”

Sanji frowned. “Me? I _work_ here, idiot!”

The guard narrowed his eyes. “I’ve never seen you in here before.”

“I’m temporary bar staff,” Sanji explained.

“Yeah?” The security guard cocked an eyebrow. “Then how come you were fighting with the customers just now?”

“Because the occasion called for some hands-on crowd management skills, and you guys were conspicuous by your absence,” Sanji responded snidely.

The guard scowled. “Okay, smart-ass. You better hope the management sees it that way, when you explain it to them. Meantime, you should get your butt behind that bar where it belongs, call housekeeping and get them up here to clear up this mess.” With that he turned on his heel and shepherded his no-necked colleagues with their assorted burden of groaning ex-combatants away from the bar towards the stairs.

 

 

Sanji silently counted to ten before walking back behind the bar. Once there he picked up the phone and called housekeeping; hung up, then grabbed his glass of water and took a long drink, finally setting the empty glass back down with a hand that was hardly shaking at all.

The adrenalin was still running through him, that after-burn of hammering heartbeat and legs that felt like they wanted to quit holding him up. He leaned with both arms on the bar counter and gazed out at the space where the action had been. Where he’d been fighting, just a couple of minutes before.

He couldn’t quite believe what had happened. Even seeing the overturned chairs, the broken glasses; the clubbers now starting to return to their own tables, but still casting wary looks back towards him.

His muscles thrummed. His shirt was sticking to his back with sweat. He picked up his glass and refilled it with water, drained it a second time. The sounds of the club settled back into normal-loud, music and conversation and laughter in a harsh blend that all of a sudden set his teeth on edge and made him ache to be somewhere else.

 

 

Two housekeeping staff appeared through the crowd with brooms and bins, exchanged cursory nods with Sanji and got to work straightening up furniture and clearing away broken glass. Within five minutes it was like the incident had never happened. The clubbers spread, colonising the two tables and chairs that had been righted. The housekeeping guys departed, and then there were three people lining up at the bar wanting drinks.

Sanji switched back into work mode and gradually the buzz faded, leaving behind a weariness that made his arms heavy. He took orders, served customers in a steady stream. Some of them quizzed him about the fight, wanting to know the juicy details of what had happened. Sanji deadpanned his replies, disinclined to feed their intrigue. He also didn’t want to think about exactly what had taken place. One scene in particular kept replaying in his brain: the drunk swinging the sake bottle back in one clenched fist, preparing to bring it down on the back of the green-haired man’s head. And how Sanji himself had moved then without thinking. A gut reaction, striking out with a kick that had taken the drunk down.

It was like Zeff said, he had no self control. A few rowdy assholes start flinging punches and he was in there without a second thought.

_But if I hadn’t waded in, that guy with the sake bottle could’ve done the moss-head some serious damage._

 

 

A loud sound close by made him start: he blinked, then realised it was the phone on the wall. He picked the receiver up. “Uh. Yeah?”

“Sanji?” It was Monica’s voice. And even from her just saying his name, Sanji could tell she was royally pissed.

“Yes. Sanji here.” Which was all kinds of stupid as a reply, but Sanji’s eloquence had temporarily deserted him.

“I want to speak to you, Sanji. In my office. There’s a relief coming up to cover the bar.”

“Um, sure. I’ll be right there.”

“Five minutes.” The phone line clicked dead as she hung up.

Sanji slowly replaced the phone.

_Fuck._

 

 

He hurried and was at her office in three minutes. It didn’t help.

Monica was at her desk, frowning at a computer screen: when he came in she glanced up and her frown deepened. “Shut the door please, Sanji.”

He did so, coming to stand in front of the desk. She didn’t ask him to sit. Instead she sat back in her chair, one forefinger tapping restively on the pen she held clenched in one hand. “I understand there was a disturbance at your bar.”

_My bar? How is it my bar?_ Sanji kept his face neutral. “There was a fight. Between some of the customers. I called security and they came and broke it up.”

Monica nodded, her mouth tight. “I gather you also got involved.”

Sanji thought for a second before replying. “I had to intervene at one point, because it looked like someone was going to get injured.”

“Really.” She regarded him stonily. “That’s not how it looked to me when I viewed the incident on our CCTV. What it looked like was you joining in with the fight and _kicking customers through tables_.” She said the last few words in tones that suggested she considered Sanji to be a borderline homicidal maniac.

“Look, one of those guys had a bottle and he was going to - ”

“Did I or did I not make it clear to you at your induction that if any difficult customer issues needed to be resolved, you should call security?”

“Well yeah, but - ”

“Our security personnel are _highly trained_ to deal with incidents of this nature, without the use of excessive force. Meaning that incidents can be resolved with minimal disruption to our customers, and without damage to fixtures and fittings. Above all, without incidents turning into brawls between customers and staff!”

 

 

Sanji clenched his jaw shut and stared down at Monica’s desk. _Okay, I get it. Don’t hit the customers, it doesn’t look good._ _Even when they’re beating the crap out of each other._

“This could have been very serious for Club Greedy, Sanji. If one of those customers you attacked decided to press charges for assault, to sue the club... It would be very damaging. I’m afraid I have no option but to ask you to leave the premises, immediately.”

Sanji’s ears took the words in, but his brain rejected them for a couple of seconds. When they finally penetrated, he drew in a breath. “Uh... What?”

“You’re fired,” she clarified, crisply. “It’s inconvenient but we’ll have to cover the bar with existing staff. You can turn in your staff pass to security on your way out.”

“Oh.” Sanji turned the pronouncement over in his mind. “I’m... fired? Just like that?”

“I’m afraid so. I really can’t have such reckless behaviour from a member of Club Greedy staff. I will be contacting Diamond Hospitality Agency to let them know what happened here tonight.”

“The agency?” Sanji felt the weight of what was happening settle a little more heavily on his shoulders. “Oh. Right.” _Shit. That means I’ll get zero work from them in future._ “Any chance you couldn’t mention the reason why I had to quit early?”

Monica looked at him as though he’d proposed fellatio. “I’m not in the habit of concealing the truth. And frankly, I think I have a duty to the agency to notify them of your behaviour. You must know that it’s simply not professional to behave like this.”

“Would it have been more professional to have let your customers hospitalise each other?” Sanji responded facetiously.

“I don’t think there’s anything more to be gained from continuing this conversation.” Monica stood up behind her desk. “I’ll show you to the door.”

“That’s okay, I can find it.” Sanji wheeled around and was out of there before he could lose it for a second time that evening.


	4. So Let's Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inviting back an unknown guy to his home whose personality so far seemed to consist largely of attitude, drinking and fighting, was probably not rational behaviour. On the other hand: Sanji had just been fired from yet another job for assaulting customers, so screw rational.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for comments and kudos, all... Feedback is much appreciated, and encourages me to write! I will post up chapters as soon as they're in a state I'm happy with. Gin gets a cameo in this chapter: am I the only one who really liked him in OP? This fic is almost finished, I'm just labouring over the ending. Endings are what give writers grey hairs, I'm convinced. Things will get more angsty, and there will eventually be smut. (Just in case any of you were wondering...)

 

* * *

 

 

_This isn’t the right thing to do_

_So let’s go_

_\- Iggy Pop_

 

* * *

 

 

Anger fuelled Sanji’s exit from the club, shouldering his way through the still-partying clubbers. Thumping music, flashing lights and cloying heat mingled with the fuming thoughts in his head, driving him through the throng. To hand in his staff pass to an uninterested security guard he had to exit the way he’d come in, through a side entrance for staff. He grabbed his coat from the locker room, tossed his pass down onto the security desk without breaking stride, shoved the electronic release button that unlocked the door, and stomped out into the chill of a midwinter night.

Damp cold air filled his lungs and made his shoulders hunch inside his coat. Sanji walked swiftly down the alley to where it met the street. About fifty yards away from him, the brightly-lit entrance to Club Greedy was busy with clubbers milling about, standing in noisy groups or trying to flag down cabs. Sanji regarded them with a jaundiced eye, before reaching into his pocket and pulling out his cigarettes.

As he lit up he checked his watch. It was a little after two a.m.

_Not the best fucking start ever to the New Year._

He inhaled smoke deep into his lungs, then surrendered it with an exhale. Parking his cigarette between his lips, he stuck his hands into his inner jacket pockets and checked what cash he had on him after a night’s worth of bar tips. Quite a lot, as it turned out. Which was just as well, considering he was unlikely to get paid by the agency for tonight... Despite having worked almost his full shift at the club.

Footsteps nearby made Sanji glance up quickly, thrusting his money back out of sight. A couple walked past him on the sidewalk, wrapped around each other, oblivious of him standing in the shadows of the alley’s entry. He watched them as they continued on their way, happily caught up in the New Year’s magic: two people enjoying each other, celebrating their lives and their future.

 

 

_Stand in a dark alley at two a.m. flashing a wedge of cash so someone gets the bright notion to mug you for it: yeah, good move. Anything else monumentally stupid you want to try tonight?_

Sanji looked around the surrounding street, checking to see if anyone was watching him. Nobody was. The people outside the club entrance were fixated on each other or getting home; the couple down the street ditto.

 _Speaking of getting home... Better start walking._ He had bus fare, but right now he was not in any kind of headspace to be confined in a noisy fluorescent-lit space with a bunch of New Year’s Eve casualties. He felt edgy and wiped out, a crap combination for doing anything apart from putting one foot in front of the other till he reached his apartment and then falling into bed.

 

 

He stepped out of the alleyway and started walking, hands in pockets. Unfortunately geography dictated that he had to pass the entrance to the club: he detoured around the customers straggling across the sidewalk, striving not to harbour homicidal thoughts because they sapped too much of his remaining energy. Sanji kept his gaze fixed forward, focussing on just one thought: _Please just let this crappy night be over._

A figure blocked his path: a clubber with his back to him, standing in the middle of the sidewalk. Sanji automatically stepped to one side without slackening his pace, head down and thinking about whether a night this shitty justified a stop on the way home to buy something to drink. He was a few yards down the street when something registered in his brain. Some mental call-out box prodding him to pause and look back over his shoulder.

It was the green-haired man from the club. He stood gazing out into the street, apparently studying the buildings opposite. As Sanji watched, the man slowly turned on the spot, scanning his surroundings. Finally he came to rest as he’d stood before, facing the traffic, a frown pulling his brows together.

_Well hey, look who it is. The moss-headed jerk who got me fired._

Sanji drew on his cigarette and scowled reflexively. There was irritation trying to struggle out of the mess of fatigue in his head, but it failed to manifest. Instead he felt nothing but a dull curiosity as to why the moss-head was eyeballing his surroundings as if they’d offered him some kind of personal insult. Then again, the night’s events in the club suggested that the green-haired idiot’s approach to life followed a basic script of antagonism. That being the case, the smart thing to do was to walk away.

 

 

Instead Sanji turned and walked back the few yards to where the man stood. “Hey. You looking for those guys you trashed?” The man looked round and saw him: frowned deeper. “Planning a second go-round with them?”

The man regarded him for a moment, then gave a dismissive shake of his head. “No. Why would I give a fuck?”

Sanji smiled sardonically. “You gave enough of a fuck back in there - ” he jerked a thumb towards the club’s entrance “ – to take them all on.”

The man narrowed his eyes. “What the hell business is it of yours what I do, curly-brow?”

 _That stupid fucking nickname, again._ Sanji felt the irritation spike through his tiredness this time. “In case you didn’t notice, I stopped one of those crapheads sucker-punching you from behind. Which got me fired, you moss-headed ingrate!”

“I didn’t ask for your help,” retorted the man bluntly.

Sanji cupped a hand behind one ear with exaggerated care. “I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch that. Did you by any chance just say ‘Thank you very much, I really appreciated your assistance’?”

 

 

The moss-head snorted. “Like I said. I didn’t need anyone’s help. I was handling those assholes fine on my own.”

Sanji clenched his teeth and let go a long angry stream of smoke. “You really are a piece of work. Maybe I should’ve just let that guy smash you over the head with that sake bottle.”

That seemed to be news. The moss-head blinked, then frowned at Sanji. “What?”

“Oh, did that particular bit of excitement escape your attention?” Sanji raised one eyebrow. “That guy you got in an armlock obviously had a few issues to work out with you. He was planning to start by caving your skull in with your bottle of sake.” He watched various expressions chase their way across the moss-head’s face. “I’m beginning to think I should have let him.”

 

 

There was a longish silence. At last the moss-head took in a breath, then released it slowly. He had been staring at the sidewalk: now he lifted his gaze and looked Sanji square in the eye. “That puts a different spin on things. I guess.”

 _Well, aren’t we the soul of graciousness._ Sanji gave the other man a sardonic smile around his cigarette. “You guess?”

Surprisingly, the moss-head also smiled. It was startling how much it transformed his face. “I figured you were just piling in to save the furniture. Didn’t realise you were actually trying to help out.”

Sanji let out a dismissive sound. “You could’ve smashed the whole fucking place to bits, as far as I’m concerned.”

The moss-head glanced towards the brightly-lit club doorway in the distance. “Well, I gave it my best shot.”

 

 

This time it was Sanji’s turn to be amused, despite himself. “Yeah. Seven out of ten for effort.”

The moss-head looked back at him. “Only a seven?”

“I had to finish three of ‘em off for you.”

“Like fuck.” The man folded his arms across his chest. “If security hadn’t showed up when they did I’d have finished things off myself.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you’d have managed just peachy with a busted bottle sticking out the back of your head.” Sanji flicked ash off the end of his cigarette. “Does using the word ‘Thanks’ give you some kind of severe allergic reaction?”

 

 

The moss-head looked at him silently for almost half a minute. Then one corner of his mouth quirked up. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“Did you really get fired?”

“Yeah.” Sanji felt the everyday world return with gloomy inevitability. “I really did.”

“Huh.” The moss-head looked marginally contrite. “Then I guess I also owe you an apology.”

Sanji sighed. “Forget it. It’s not like I was carving out a career niche in there.” He shrugged. “It was just a dumb temporary job, I was only working one night in that craphole. Though as it turned out...” he smiled wryly “...I didn’t even make it through my shift.” At the other man’s expression, he shook his head. “I’m not throwing a pity party here. I hate fucking bar work, so at least I get to spend the last few hours of the night not having to pour drinks for a bunch of wealthy assholes.” As his last words left his mouth, he realised too late that the moss-head might feel himself included in that category by virtue of being one of the club’s customers.

 

 

If the other man felt offended, he didn’t show it. “There is that.” He glanced round at the club’s entrance again. “If I never set foot in that place again it won’t bother me.”

“I’m pretty sure if you set foot in there again you’ll be getting a swift escort to the exit,” Sanji advised. “The Nazi manager who runs the place has probably got NeoFace recognition software installed on her CCTV system.”

“Pfft.” The man made a dismissive sound. “Like I’d want to go back in there again anyway.”

“Which brings me back to my original question. How come you’re loitering outside? Because if you were planning to try and finish what you started in there, I’m pretty sure those losers are long gone.”

“I’m not interested in them. All I want is to get the hell out of here, head home.” The man gestured at the street. “But I’ve been trying to flag a cab for half an hour.”

 

 

Sanji regarded the other man speculatively. The cut above his left eye appeared to have stopped bleeding, but there were streaks and smears of blood down the side of his face and neck. He also looked somewhat dishevelled from his fight. Not to mention that in the semi-darkness he loomed on the kerb like a minor geographic feature. Sanji was unsurprised that no self-respecting cab driver had wanted to risk picking up a fare that screamed potential trouble all over it. He decided against pointing this out, however. “It’s New Year’s Eve. Cabs are like fucking gold dust. Why don’t you just walk home? You hang around out here for too long and club security might start taking an interest in you. Them or the cops.”

“I plan to. I’m just... getting my bearings.” The man mumbled this last sentence, almost as if he didn’t want to be heard.

Sanji recalled the bottle of sake, and all the Asahi beers. _Ha... Wasted._ He grinned at the other man. “Want me to point you in the right direction?” He extended one finger. “That way’s north. Just look for the moss on the wrong side of the trees.”

“Fuck you.” The man glared at him. “I am not lost!”

“Yeah? Then how come you’re still standing here?”

The glare became a glower. “Look, this is the first time I've set foot in this shit-hole neighbourhood. My friend's apartment is a ways from here, and I’ve got more important things to do with my time than memorize a fucking street map!”

Sanji was starting to enjoy this. “Did your friend tie an address label on you somewhere before he let you out to play? Maybe you should call him and ask him to come rescue you.”

“I don’t need rescuing,” responded the green-haired man through gritted teeth. “And I can’t call him. When I was dealing with those assholes in the club my phone must have dropped out of my pocket.”

Sanji regarded him amusedly. “Well, I guess you could just flip a coin and pick a direction.” He watched the other man turn his back on him and stubbornly resume scanning the street. “Or you could come back to my place, if you want.”

 _What?!?_   An inner voice gibbered in his brain. He ignored it.

 

 

The green-haired guy seemed taken by surprise, too. He turned back to look at Sanji, brows pulled down into a dubious expression. “Huh?”

Sanji took a last pull on the end of his cigarette, then flicked it away into the gutter. “I live within walking distance. You can come back to my place, call a cab from there. Or call your friend, whatever.” He lifted his gaze and met the other man’s.

The dark eyes seemed to assess him. Sanji slid his hands into his coat pocket and gazed back, projecting nonchalance; trying to generate it internally too, to drown out the inner voice that was hollering things like _Are you fucking crazy!_

 _Yeah. Maybe._ Inviting back an unknown guy to his home whose personality so far seemed to consist largely of attitude, drinking and fighting, was probably not rational behaviour. On the other hand: Sanji had just been fired from yet another job for assaulting customers, so screw rational.

 

 

 _Screw._ The word ran through his consciousness and down the length of his spine, in a way that told him higher brain function wasn’t involved.

-       _Everyone who has a halfway decent shot at it will be slamming the sheets with somebody. Grab some action, why don't you._

Nami’s words, from earlier. And here and now, standing in the chilly street, he was increasingly tuning in to the fact that regardless of the green-haired guy being rude and annoying and half-cut and probably borderline psychotic... He was also, undeniably, fucking hot. And since they’d been verbally sparring on the sidewalk, Sanji’s fatigue and the whole being-fired thing had somehow ceased to matter. Because an itchy warm tension that was both familiar and somewhat disconcerting had begun to grow in the pit of his stomach. And since recklessness seemed to be the order of things right now, he was going to go with it.

 

 

The man put a hand to the back of his head, scrubbing his fingers through his spiky green hair. His eyes rested on Sanji. “Uh... You sure?”

Sanji didn’t know whether the question related to his offer of simple help, or to something more than that. Not that it mattered. “Yeah. I wouldn’t have offered otherwise.” When the man still hesitated, he said, “Look, it’s no big deal. I only live a little ways from here. We can walk it in forty minutes. I’m heading home now, so you could come along: and then like I said, you can call a cab. Have a coffee while you’re waiting for it to show up.” He gestured at the street. “Beats standing on the sidewalk in the cold.”

The man looked him for a few seconds longer... then nodded. “Okay.”

 

 

The warm thing uncoiling inside Sanji flexed its muscles. He let a slow smile grow on his face. “Okay.” He took one hand out of his pocket and held it out. “I’m Sanji. And in case you were wondering, I’m not some weird axe murderer or professional stalker or anything.”

The man grunted as he reached out with his own hand: his shake was warm, firm and brief. “Even if you were I wouldn’t be worrying. Zoro.”

“As in - ?”

“ – The dumb Spanish sword fighting character, no, not that.” The response came out swiftly enough that Sanji suspected it had been used a lot of times. “Single ‘r’.”

“Zoro. Right. Entirely different.” Sanji gestured down the street. “We might as well talk while we walk.”

 

 

They fell into step, leaving the club behind. As they walked Sanji reached for his last cigarette; put it between his lips and sparked it up.

“You smoke a lot?” The question from the other man – Zoro, Sanji now needed to think of him as – was as brusque as it was unexpected. Sanji took a few moments to blow out an elaborate stream of smoke, before answering.

“When I feel like it. You drink a lot?”

“When I feel like it.”

“Like tonight.”

“Drinking alcohol on New Year’s Eve.” Zoro’s tone was laced with irony. “That strike you as unusual, in your long bar-keeping experience?”

“No. Although the sake... Don’t get too many people asking for that as their method of choice for tying one on in the festive spirit.”

“Yeah, well...” Zoro sounded like he didn’t intend to justify that. “Sometimes you just get bored with drinking beer all night.”

“Speaking of which: it’s gonna sound weird, but the one thing bartenders don’t get to do on New Year’s is have a drink. So I was thinking of stopping in a corner store on the way home, buying something. Maybe get some food as well. It’s on the way, though.”

“Whatever.”

 

 

And that was pretty much it, conversation-wise, for the rest of their journey. Zoro appeared to have no need to pursue small talk, and Sanji was too busy managing the thing that was starting to stretch and growl inside him to have much attention to spare.

 _This is such a bad idea._ He smoked his cigarette and took small glances at Zoro from the corner of his eye as they walked. At the three long gold earrings that swung from the lobe of his left ear. The choppy green hair. The dried blood streaked down the side of his face. The taste for designer high-end clubbing that said _affluent, taking life for granted_. And everything else about the man that screamed, _trouble._

And yet. The warm growling thing inside didn’t mind the thought of that. It liked it.

_You are so fucking tweaked._

 

 

 

 

They reached the corner store on Sanji’s block a little after three in the morning. Sanji led the way inside, conscious that anyone encountering the blood-stained Zoro first might be inclined to jump to unfriendly conclusions. He raised a hand at Gin, who was propped on the counter studying a muted TV which was bolted to the ceiling. “Hey, Gin. Happy New Year.”

Gin took his gaze off the TV long enough to register his arrival, with a single nod. Then his eyes slid over to check out Zoro, who had walked in and was standing just inside the door, looking around. Sanji indicated the green-haired man with his thumb. “He’s with me.”

Gin’s expression didn’t falter. He gave another single nod, then returned his gaze to the TV. It looked like he was watching another martial arts movie. He had a vast collection which he could watch with no volume because he knew them by heart. That and the fact that the dialogue wasn’t a hugely important feature anyway.

 

 

Sanji grabbed a basket from the stack near the door and walked down the nearest aisle, checking out the produce. The money in his jacket pockets felt like a friendly presence, opening up all kinds of possibilities like freedom from anxiety about rent for at least the immediate future. Also food. For a chef, not being able to buy good food was a daily source of unhappiness. Sanji loved to cook: but he also loved to buy the ingredients that would go into making his dishes. He loved markets, fishmongers, fruit and vegetable stalls, charcuteries, delis, Asian grocers, bodegas. Loved to touch the food, smell it, sample morsels. Haul bags of good things home and then spend hours creating dishes and menus. It had been a big part of his life when he’d worked as a chef, and he missed it.

Now though he was on a budget. Even if he had done pretty damn good on tips tonight, who knows how long that money would have to last if – as seemed likely – Monica’s reporting him to the agency meant that he’d have to find another source of temporary catering work. So he could buy some food now, yes: just nothing fancy.

He put a carton of eggs into his basket, followed by a packet of chorizo: moved to the fresh produce aisle and added potatoes, onions, peppers and a lettuce; fresh parsley, a lemon, garlic. He finished by grabbing a carton of milk and a loaf of bread, finally returning to the counter via the liquor shelves.

 

 

Zoro was there, studying the wares. He glanced at Sanji’s loaded basket. “You planning a dinner party?”

“I’ve been working since six o’clock yesterday. I’m hungry.” Sanji ran his own gaze along the bottles of wine on the shelves, before taking a Sauvignon Blanc and adding it to his purchases. He looked at Zoro: the green-haired man ignored the wine, reaching up instead to the top shelf and taking down a bottle of Jack Daniels.

 _On top of beer and sake?_ Sanji tried hard not to let what he was thinking show on his face. “Okay... I’ll just pay for my stuff, then we can go.”

 

 

At the counter he unloaded the wine and foodstuffs for Gin to cash up. “Can I get two packs of Camel Lights as well, please.”

Gin reached up for the cigarettes and added them to the pile, along with the flimsiest plastic bag that science could engineer. Sanji handed over some cash and began bagging up his purchases, leaving the wine out to carry in his free hand. He took his change and stepped to one side a little to allow Zoro to pay for his bottle of whiskey.

There was a little pause where nothing happened: glancing sideways, Sanji saw that Zoro had failed to notice the cash till was now free. The green-haired man was gazing up at Gin’s TV, apparently engrossed in the soundless action playing out on the screen. Sanji looked up himself: a moustached and bearded samurai warrior was carving up a bunch of bad guys in a dusty street, with the usual spectacularly unconvincing severed limb special effects. On looking back to Gin, Sanji was unsuprised to see that the store keeper was also following the action. It was a weird choice of entertainment to have playing above the store’s counter, but none of Gin’s customers ever seemed to mind the regular onslaught of disembowelling going on while they bought their groceries. Not that anyone was likely to complain to Gin.

Sanji hadn’t been exaggerating about being hungry, though. Plus he was tired. So he decided to give Zoro a prompt. “Going to pay for that?”

 

 

Both Zoro and Gin pulled their attention away from the screen and onto Sanji, who gestured with his thumb at the bottle in Zoro’s hand. The green-haired man grunted and stuck the bottle on the counter for Gin to run over the scanner. As he did so, he nodded up at the tv. “That’s my favourite scene in the movie.”

Gin paused in taking the money for the whiskey, to regard Zoro with attention. “You like _Yojimbo_?”

Zoro nodded, taking the Jack Daniels with his change. “I like everything Mifune ever acted in. He really kicks ass in _Yojimbo_ , though.”

“Most people only know him from _Seven Samurai_ , or _Rashomon_ ,” said Gin.

“Yeah... Well, they’re totally missing out,” Zoro responded authoritatively.

“Which of his films do you prefer?” Gin folded his arms.

“ _Duel At Ichichoji Temple_ is my all-time favourite. But _Chūshingura_ comes pretty close. When they remade it as that _47 Ronin_ turkey I wanted to hunt Keanu Reeves down and force him to commit seppuku with a blunt knife.”

“Ahh, don’t even talk about it,” Gin grimaced. “No-one knows the real classics, they’re too busy watching fakes like that, or _Kill Bill_. It’s bullshit.”

 

 

Sanji watched this exchange with an increasing sense of unreality.

_I’ve lived on this block for going on two years now, and the most I’ve gotten out of Gin is Hi, Goodbye, and small talk about the weather. Thirty seconds and he and the moss-head are bonded at the hip._

He hefted his heavy bag of groceries thoughtfully, before saying, “Hey. Hate to butt in on your film festival, but I could seriously use something to eat. Okay if we make a move?”

Both men looked at him, their train of enthusiasm derailed. Sanji gave them both a friendly smile.

After a moment, Gin let out a grunt and favoured Zoro with a nod. “Nice to meet a fellow enthusiast. Happy New Year.”

“Thanks. Same to you.” Zoro swung away from the counter, letting Sanji lead the way out of the store.

 

 

Out in the street, Sanji pondered for a while as they walked the remaining distance to his apartment building. After a minute or so, he commented, “So you like martial arts movies?”

“Some. Samurai movies, mostly.”

“I think you made Gin’s day back there. I don’t think I’ve ever actually seen him that animated... Except maybe the time I saw him take out a shoplifter in the liquor aisle.”

“It’s cool that he likes the old movies. Most people don’t know them, think they’re too old-fashioned. Not enough action. But some of the fight scenes are awesome... Mifune could really move like a kenshi.”

The enthusiasm in Zoro’s voice was hard to resist, although Sanji genuinely didn’t get the attraction. Whenever he’d glanced at whatever movies Gin was watching on his muted screen, they appeared to be formulaic. Usually a robed guy with a weird haircut, taking on either a significantly larger group of opponents with equally eclectic hairstyles, or a single badass who had obviously worked hard at his Looking Sinister lessons. Either way, the hero invariably won, with varying amounts of dismemberment and exsanguination along the way. “Whatever floats your boat, I guess.” Zoro shot him a look, and Sanji shrugged. “I’ll take your word for it. My ignorance about samurai culture is only exceeded by my lack of knowledge about Japanese cinema... So I’m not really equipped to comment.”

After a few seconds, Zoro shrugged. “Your loss.”

Sanji elected not to respond to that one. They completed the remainder of the journey to his apartment in mutual silence.


	5. We Just Met

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sanji hesitated, before risking the question he really wanted to know the answer to. “So you weren’t... planning to meet up with someone there?”
> 
> Zoro’s dark gaze switched up to meet his. “What made you think that?”
> 
> “Well, it being New Year’s and all...” Sanji gestured airily with one hand. “That, and the fact you asked for a second sake glass.”
> 
> There was an immediate drop in temperature. Zoro’s gaze stayed on the chef’s, but there was no warmth left in it at all now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three things:  
> (1) This fic has now morphed into 7 chapters rather than 5, that's just how it's worked out.  
> (2) This chapter's a long one, because it needed to be.  
> (3) Thank you so much for all the hits, kudos, bookmarks and comments. You are lovely and awesome. Enjoy.

 

* * *

 

_We just met_  
_And I know I'm a bit too intimate_  
_But something huge is coming up_  
_And we're both included_

-       _Bjork_

 

 

* * *

 

 

After a few more minutes of silent walking, they stopped at the entrance to his building. Sanji got out his keys. “Okay. Here we are.”

They climbed the stairs in silence, Sanji preferring this to travelling in the dimly-lit and rank-smelling experience that his apartment building’s elevator provided. Once they reached the third floor he walked them to his apartment, unlocked the door and led the way inside. Switching on the light in the hallway he hung up his coat, before heading through to the main room with Zoro in tow. “Okay. Make yourself at home.” He gestured at the couch, then looked back at his guest.

Zoro was standing just inside the doorway, looking around the room and taking it in with a steady gaze. Sanji glanced around the space himself, making a quick check that he hadn’t left the place in too much of an untidy state. He hadn’t been expecting visitors when he’d left for work. But the room wasn’t too dishevelled: Sanji didn’t like clutter so apart from his laptop, music system and TV he’d gone for minimal furnishings. A comfy couch and armchair; a low square table; a desk in one corner by the window, with two shelves of books fixed to the wall above it; and a single framed picture on the wall opposite the couch.

Sanji saw Zoro’s eye rest on this. It was a picture he’d loved the moment he’d first seen it. Sometimes when things felt too much to handle he would just lie on the couch and study it, imagining himself within it. Letting it take him away for a while.

The large photograph in the frame was of a tropical sea, shot from a viewpoint at the water’s surface. Blue sky with clouds filled the upper third of the frame, changing abruptly into turquoise water where two manta rays swooped after a small shoal of bright blue fish, against a background of white sand ocean floor lit by sunlight dappled through waves. The image was almost abstract, with the simple blue, white and black shapes. The manta rays seemed to fly through the water like strange underwater birds, drawing your eye into the picture.

 

 

Sanji let himself be there, for the space of a slow breath in and out. Then he came back. Looking at Zoro, who was also still regarding the photo, he said, “Well... I’m gonna make some food. You want something to eat?” At Zoro glancing round at him with a slight frown, Sanji shrugged. “I’m cooking for myself anyway, it won’t make any difference to make enough for two people. I’m not making anything fancy, it’ll be ready pretty quick so you can call a cab and still have time to eat something.”

Zoro considered for a moment. “Okay... Thanks. If you’re sure it’s no trouble.”

Sanji grinned inwardly. The moss-head was at least capable of the rudiments of social etiquette, even if it didn’t seem to come naturally. “Nah, like I said: I’m gonna cook anyway.” He walked to the music system and switched it on, setting the selection to shuffle and hitting play. “Make yourself at home. Food won’t be long, half an hour tops.” He thought about the whole calling-a-cab deal. Reaching into his pocket he took out his phone and laid it on the table by the couch. “There’s a cab service in my contacts, feel free to use my phone to call them. I’m guessing you’ll have quite a wait for them, though, it being New Year’s.” Zoro nodded, looking down at the phone. Sanji regarded him for a moment longer. “Uh... And don’t take this the wrong way, but...” Zoro’s gaze switched back to him: Sanji gestured at his face. “You might want to wash up, if you don’t want your cab driver to take one look at you and leave you on the kerb.”

Zoro blinked, before reaching up and touching the side of his head with one hand and then inspecting his fingers. “Am I still bleeding?”

“No, but you’re looking kind of... colourful.” Sanji gestured towards the doorway on the far side of the main room. “The bathroom’s the first door on the right. Help yourself. I’ll be in the kitchen, opposite.”

 

 

Heading first to his bedroom to shed his vest and tie, then to his tiny but well-equipped kitchen, Sanji began to relax for the first time since he’d left for work hours ago. He unpacked his groceries; put the bottle of wine into the ‘fridge to chill it and began to lay out his cooking tools.

When he’d stopped working at Zeff’s he’d brought his chef’s knives and other kit with him. While he’d been in regular work he’d been able to add a few more good quality items to his kitchen equipment: he’d looked after all of it, and his chef’s implements were the only possessions he got pissy about other people touching. Not that there was any reason for any of his friends to be touching them, anyway – no-one ever cooked at Sanji’s apartment but himself.

He peeled the potatoes and set them to boil; rinsed and dried the lettuce and parsley, made a quick green salad and garlic vinaigrette and put them to one side. Opening the packet of chorizo he sliced it into discs; chopped up an onion and a red pepper before setting a heavy frying pan on the stove top and pouring in a little olive oil.

 

 

A voice from behind him made him start. “You got a first aid kit or anything like that?”

Sanji turned. Zoro was standing in the doorway, holding a towel to his face just above his eye. A pale blue towel that, Sanji noticed with annoyance, was spotted with blood when the moss-head took it away from his head. Zoro saw his reaction and grimaced slightly. “Cut opened up while I was washing my face. Sorry about messing up your towel.”

Sanji managed to rein in his irritation. “O... never mind. It can go in the wash.” He reached up into a cupboard and took down a plastic box, holding it out to the other man. “There’s plasters in there, steri-strips, whatever you want. Just leave the towel in the basket in the bathroom when you’re done.”

Zoro took the first aid kit and retreated, leaving his host to continue cooking. Sanji turned his focus back onto the dish he was making, letting everything else go into the background. He had decided on a kind of Spanish omelette type dish, simple flavours and ingredients, well-seasoned. Lots of colour, something midway between substantial and light.

He took the wine out of the ‘fridge and poured himself a half-glass. Started to fry the slices of chorizo, savouring the rich spicy smell. When they were finished the potatoes were also cooked, so he tipped them into a colander and left them to drain.

 

 

Music drifted through from the main room. He caught a few bars of Ozomatli.

 _This is / this is my world_  
_This is / this is our world_  
_If we believe in our hearts_

Sanji beat a few eggs in a bowl, sautéed the onion and red pepper. The movements of cooking centred him, took him to a place where all the night’s happenings, all worries about the future faded. All that mattered was making this dish as perfectly as it deserved. His hands moved smoothly, taking the exact amount of time each task needed. He watched, tasted, adjusted seasoning.

 

 

When it was done he served up the halved omelette onto two plates, deftly holding them with one hand while his other picked up the salad. Heading into the sitting room he placed them on the table and said to Zoro who was now sitting on the couch, “Dig in. I’ll just get the salad dressing.”

Returning from the kitchen he found Zoro regarding the meal with an expression that hovered between wariness and surprise. “You some kind of chef or something?”

“As it happens: yeah.” Sanji sat cross-legged on the floor, depositing the vinaigrette, some cutlery, his wine and an empty glass for Zoro onto the table. “You want some wine?”

Zoro pulled a face. “No thanks.”

“Suit yourself.” Sanji dished up some salad onto his plate and drizzled it with vinaigrette.

Zoro reached to the side of the couch, and plonked his bottle of Jack Daniels onto the table. “No problem.”

Sanji eyed it for a moment, then with a dismissive shake of his head tried his food. It was good. He let himself enjoy that for a moment.

 

 

Zoro uncapped the whiskey and poured his glass half full. Sanji regarded him. “Want any water with that?”

Zoro shrugged. “This’ll do fine.” He picked up his fork and sliced off some omelette: inserted it into his mouth and chewed. After a few seconds, a slightly disbelieving expression crossed his features. He looked down at his plate, then took a second forkful. The expression of disbelief morphed into one of sincere enjoyment. Sanji felt a smug little glow blossom inside.

 

 

  _Score._

 

 

Zoro swallowed his mouthful and looked at him. “Shit, this is really fucking good.”

“Bon appétit,” Sanji rejoined, raising his wine glass in a mock toast.

“No, seriously.” Zoro took another mouthful. “This is great.”

“Thank you.” Sanji acknowledged the compliment with a graceful nod.

“If you can cook like this, why the hell are you doing bar-tending jobs in shitty night clubs?” Zoro enquired bluntly. “Seems like kind of a waste.”

Sanji narrowed his eyes. “Not through choice, obviously.”

Zoro’s eyebrows raised momentarily. “Touchy subject, huh?”

“How about we just enjoy the meal,” Sanji suggested, with deliberate calm.

Zoro said nothing more, turning his attention to his food. For a little while an almost peaceful kind of silence reigned.

 

 

As he savoured his meal, Sanji’s eye fell on his phone. It was still lying exactly where he’d placed it, on the corner of the table. Zoro evidently hadn’t called a cab yet. There was a pleasurable little spike in his internal chemistry as he processed this knowledge. Casually he let his gaze travel back to his guest.

Zoro was eating his food – well, devouring it would actually have been a better description – as though it was the first square meal he’d seen in months. Sanji was used to friends appreciating his cooking and he had no false modesty where his chef skills were concerned... But it was still gratifying to know that he had impressed the moss-head with his abilities. And on a baser note, eating was one of those things that connected straight to body chemistry, pushing buttons in people’s pleasure centres. One of the many reasons Sanji loved to cook was that he liked being able to do that to people. And he had zero scruples about using his talents to further the cause of things developing tonight in the direction he was increasingly starting to dwell on.

 

 

His eyes ran over the other man. At the wide shoulders filling out the dark grey shirt. The powerful arms. Zoro was either a serious workout addict or did something physical for a living. Having seen him in action at the club, Sanji was inclined to go for the latter, although hands-on work didn’t square with the expensive habits like designer sake.

_Maybe he’s some kind of yakuza gang member._

Sanji considered that notion, but it seemed unlikely. Although it would explain Zoro’s proficiency at fighting. At that thought, Sanji glanced at the other man’s face. Zoro looked a little less intimidating with the gore scrubbed off, although the cut above his eye was nearly a couple of inches long. Zoro had taped it shut with a few steri-strips: a bruise was also just starting to form on his cheek bone. Apart from that he seemed undamaged from his run-in with half a dozen drink-fuelled opponents.

As though sensing Sanji’s scrutiny, Zoro looked up: met the chef’s gaze. Sanji elected to be up-front about the fact that he’d been regarding the other man. Gesturing with his thumb at the bruise, Sanji spoke. “I can get you some ice for that if you want.”

Zoro shook his head. “S’okay.” He raised two fingers to the cut above his eye, touching it lightly, before letting his hand fall again. “One of those assholes must have been wearing a ring.” He pursued a last forkful of food round his plate, before shovelling it into his mouth. “Ah... Thanks for this. Didn’t think I was hungry till I started eating.”

Sanji smiled, taking a sip of his wine. “Glad you enjoyed it.”

Zoro patted his stomach. “Like I said: you can really fucking cook.” A smile crossed his features: he let out a snort. “Man, if my friend was here right now he’d think he’d landed in heaven.”

“The guy whose place you live in?” Sanji wondered exactly what ‘friend’ might mean. “Does he cook?”

Zoro let out a short laugh. “Luffy? Fuck, no. You wouldn’t want to let Luffy anywhere near a kitchen. He just loves to eat.” He grinned. “Since I’ve been staying with him, we’ve mostly lived on pizza and burgers.”

Sanji raised one eyebrow. “Sounds delightful.”

“It does the job. Neither of us much cares what we eat, as long as there’s enough of it. And neither of us can cook for shit either, so that’s why we wind up getting take-out most of the time.” Zoro pushed his empty plate away from him and picked up his whiskey: took a large swig. “The last thing I want to do after working late is have to get my head around cooking something. Too much bother.”

 

 

That was an opening of sorts. Sanji took it as an opportunity to find out more. “You work evenings?”

“Sometimes.” Zoro sat back on the couch, resting his glass of whiskey on one thigh. “I teach classes at a gym, as well as working as a personal trainer. Usually means I wind up working three or four nights a week, as well as daytimes.”

That explained the physique. “Oh, you work in a gym? Which one?”

“Flex.”

“Hm, haven’t been there.” Sanji considered. “They got a pool?”

“Yeah, the works. It’s pretty good, they spent a bunch on upgrading all their equipment just before I started working there. You should check it out.”

“Maybe I will.” Sanji decided not to mention that in his current financial situation, gym membership wasn’t an option. “You like working there?”

“It’s okay. The job isn’t exactly enthralling, but I can work flexible hours most of the time, if I need to. Some of the clients are a royal pain in the ass.”

“You don’t like coaching?”

“Depends on who I’m teaching.” Zoro shrugged. “Where I worked before, I used to run classes for local kids in a community centre. It was just a hall and a ratty changing room, the shittiest old equipment; but I really enjoyed the work. It really felt like it was making a difference to those kids.”

“How come you gave it up?”

“The funding for the project dried up. No-one was willing to keep it running.” Zoro gave a one-sided and mirthless smile. “Usual fucking story. No-one gives a shit about those kids’ futures. No-one cares if they’re joining gangs ‘cos there’s fuck all else to do... If they’re killing each other on the streets that doesn’t seem to be a problem, unless it starts to spill over into nice white middle class neighbourhoods.”

 

 

Sanji was surprised, not just by the unexpectedness of the opinion but also by the vehemence with which Zoro said it. Maybe it showed on his face, because Zoro caught himself and gave slight shake of the head. “Ah, I get going on this topic and I’ve been known to rant all night. Don’t mind me.”

“No, that’s okay. It’s not like I disagree with you.” Sanji was curious, though. The edge in Zoro’s voice had had a personal feel to it. “That’s pretty challenging work to have been doing, though. How’d you wind up getting involved in that kind of thing?”

Zoro grinned. “By default. I grew up in kind of a shitty neighbourhood myself. I was running on the edge of getting into serious trouble when this guy who ran a local dojo let me join the classes there. Gave me something to focus on other than seeing how deep in the shit I could get myself. Plus I found out that winning fights could actually be a legitimate pursuit, if you did it through organised martial arts competitions. Meant I could carry on kicking ass but not wind up in jail for doing it.”

“You competed? What in?”

Zoro took another sip of whiskey. “Kendo. And I still compete.”

“Kendo, huh...” Sanji made an impressed face. “That’s a full-on sport.”

“That’s why I like it.” Zoro’s grin had a shark-like quality to it now.

 

                                                                                                   

 _I bet._ Sanji had seen kendo practitioners on TV, and tried to picture Zoro wearing the get-up they sported. It was a weird image. He mentally erased it, replacing it with Zoro training in a gym instead. With a lot less on. _That_ was more successful, to the point that he lost concentration for a few moments. When he managed to pull himself back into the here and now, blinking slightly, Zoro was observing him with an expression that suggested he had both noticed the chef’s abstraction and was trying to figure out the reason for it. Sanji felt the blood rising to his cheeks and mentally cursed his body’s tendency to betray his inner workings. To manage his awkwardness, he got to his feet, picking up their empty plates. “I’ll just stick these in the kitchen.”

When he returned to the room, bringing his bottle of wine with him, Zoro was studying the photographic print on the opposite wall again. He nodded at it as Sanji sat down. “That’s a pretty cool photo. Did you take it?”

“I wish.” Sanji poured himself another glass of wine. “It was taken by a marine photographer called Rory Moore. I just like it.” He looked at the picture himself. “I hope I get to see something like it, though... One day.”

“No time like the present,” Zoro commented.

Sanji gave an ironic smile. “My budget right now doesn’t allow for tropical holidays.”

Zoro shrugged. “You could figure out some way of doing it. Crewing on a ship, maybe... You’re a cook, there must be plenty of cruises or boats heading out to those kinds of places that would hire you.”

 

 

Sanji paused with his glass of wine halfway to his mouth. It had never even occurred to him to think of that. He looked at Zoro. “That... is actually not such a crazy idea.”

“So go do it.” Zoro shrugged again. “Why wait, if it’s something you want to do? Catch a boat and get out there.”

Sanji considered his current life, looking around the room. _It’s not like there’s anything in my life right now that I couldn’t just walk away from._ The realisation was both liberating and unnerving. “Maybe I’ll look into it.”

Zoro drained his glass and set it down on the table, before sitting back and folding his arms behind his head. “That sounds like you’re talking yourself out of it already.”

“No... Just... I’ve decided I really need to get my shit together this year. So taking off into the wide blue yonder might not be the best career move.”

 

 

Zoro’s eyebrows hiked up. “Working temporary jobs in bars is a career?”

“No, you dumb moss-head.” Sanji saw Zoro’s frown at that one, and grinned internally. “I mean, my actual planned career, which is to be a chef. A damn good one.”

“What’s stopping you?”

Sanji clenched his jaw. “Every fucker who’s ever done a catering course is competing in the same market as me. It’s not easy finding jobs in restaurants... The last chef vacancy I went after, they told me they’d had over two hundred applicants. Fifty of whom were qualified to do the job.”

Zoro considered this. “Why don’t you set up on your own? Y’know, go into business for yourself.”

Sanji rolled his eyes. “Have you any idea how much capital it takes to set up your own restaurant? I’d need business partners, investors... all that shit. And right now I haven’t got the kind of experience and track record that would convince anyone to throw money at me.”

“What, you’ve got some kind of shady past?” Zoro raised one eyebrow. “Sounds intriguing.”

“Not exactly. Just... a few work-related issues.”

“What did you do, poison a customer?” Zoro was grinning now.

“No.” Sanji sat on it for as long as he could. When it became clear that silence wasn’t going to work, he said reluctantly, “Actually, I kicked a customer’s ass. After he’d royally asked for it. Which, not surprisingly, got me fired.” Zoro began to laugh. Sanji glared at him. “What’s so fucking funny?”

“Oi... Work-related issues?” Zoro was still grinning at him. “How many jobs have you lost through attacking customers?”

“Two, including tonight,” Sanji answered shortly. “Which was your fucking fault, in case you’ve forgotten!”

“You sure you’re cut out to be a chef?” asked Zoro. “Maybe conflict resolution management is where your strengths lie.”

Sanji ground his teeth together. “How’d you like a matching scar above your other eye?”

 

 

Zoro unfolded his arms, holding both hands up in a peace-making gesture. “Take it easy, cook. You get any redder and I’ll have to dial 911.”

Sanji’s legs twitched. He truly couldn’t help it: right then, he wanted nothing more than to get up and plant a kick in the smirking moss-head’s chest that would send him through the back of the couch. He settled for standing up and pacing to the music system, where he scrolled through the album listings until deciding to go with Buena Vista Social Club. As the percussion and guitars of _Chan Chan_ kicked in he returned to sit back on the floor. Deliberately slowly he got out a cigarette and lit up, giving himself time to wind himself back down a notch. “You’re the one that kicked off in the club, craphead. I don’t make a habit of starting trouble.”

Zoro regarded him levelly. “Hey, I just went in there to have a drink. I wasn’t planning on starting anything.”

 

 

There was something so off in that answer, something in Zoro’s voice that was so at variance with the look in his eyes, that Sanji marked it for further investigation. For now though, he let it drop. “Whatever. To return to my original point... Yeah, for sure I would love to have my own restaurant. And I will, one day. But right now that’s not an option.”

Zoro waved one hand. “Okay, maybe not a restaurant. But why not set up your own catering business? That can’t be so difficult. There are plenty of one-man operations out there, doing food for yuppie dinner parties, or take-out lunch orders for office workers. Or specialise in something: smoothies or health food or shit like that. The customers in the gym buy that crap like there’s no tomorrow.”

Sanji was about to shoot this idea down in flames, when he realised that once again the moss-head had actually made a pretty good suggestion. He took a mouthful of wine, before saying slowly, “I don’t know. Going into business for myself... I mean, the cooking: that would be no problem. But all that stuff like doing accounts and cashflow projections, marketing... I suck at all that.”

“Then find someone who doesn’t suck at it and get them to help you. Or pay them to help you.” Zoro dismissed Sanji’s objections easily.

“I don’t know any accountants or business execs - ” Sanji broke off, as a sudden realisation dropped into his mind. _Nami. She can do this kind of stuff. And she’d fucking love it, helping me set up my own catering business. She’d get to tell me what to do me twenty-four seven, instead of only at weekends._

 

 

Zoro watched the expression on his face change. “People talk themselves out of doing stuff all the fucking time. Because they think it’s going to be too difficult, or because they might screw up. They settle for playing safe, for second-best. But if you’ve got a dream... If it’s something you really want... It’s worth taking a shot at it.”

Sanji looked at him. “That your own philosophy?”

“Pretty much. Though it took me a while to come round to it.” Zoro looked down at the table, then reached out and picked up his bottle of whiskey, pouring himself a generous refill. “Actually, it was my crazy-ass friend convinced me of it. He’s pretty much lived his entire life by it.”

“This guy Luffy? He sounds like quite the character.”

Zoro gave a brief wry smile. “You have no fucking idea.”

“What’s he do for a living?”

“Random adventuring.” Zoro took a swallow of his drink. “He’s an adrenalin junkie. He’ll do pretty much anything if it gives him a buzz. A year ago he was helping this other friend of ours design some crazy online game that took off big time. Right now he’s hanging out with a bunch of folks who organise illegal parties and anti-capitalist protests. I keep expecting to wake up one morning with cops busting down the door, but so far it hasn’t happened.”

“You guys been friends long?”

“Couple of years.” Zoro looked away. “He kind of... helped me get my head together, when I needed to.”

 

 

Another interesting little reveal, which Sanji sensed Zoro didn’t want him going anywhere near. He picked a safer topic. “So how come you didn’t go partying with your friend tonight?”

“Well for one thing, he was meeting up with his brother, who is as crazy as he is. I like both those guys, there’s never a dull moment when they’re around... But when they get together you just know that at some point in the night you’re going to wind up explaining yourself to law enforcement.”

Sanji smirked. “Whereas tonight, you were the model of restraint.”

Zoro’s eyes flicked up to him, then back down to his drink. “Yeah, well... Those assholes were asking for it.”

“By being drunk and obnoxious?” Sanji shook his head. “You could have ignored them.”

“I did. Up to a point.”

“So, what: this is your way of spending a fun New Year's Eve? Go out and get tanked and wait for some moron to be dumb enough to stir up shit in front of you, so you can wade in with your fists?” Sanji raised an eyebrow. “Wow. You must want a short and full life.”

“Fuck you, curly-brow.” Zoro took another mouthful of whiskey.

“No, but seriously. Sooner or later you're going to run into someone you can't handle. Then it's game over.”

“Hasn't happened so far.” Zoro shrugged.

“So, you plan on making this your life's work? Taking down bad guys? I hate to break it to you, but the supply of assholes is never-ending. Take it from me, I've worked in enough bars and restaurants to know. You want to spend the rest of your life kicking people's asses?”

“Just the ones that need it.”

 

 

Sanji sipped his wine, while considering that answer.

_And therein hangs a tale._

Zoro didn’t seem to show any signs of stopping answering questions, although he was evasive as hell around certain things. Sanji was good at reading people. He could see the barriers go up; Zoro’s gaze shift away, a slight tension around his mouth when the conversation got too close to something. And weirdly that made Sanji want to find out more, despite the warning signs.

Zoro finished his second large measure of whiskey, and poured another. Which looked like another sign of discomfort, although the spirits seemed to be having no effect on him that Sanji could detect. He remembered again the numerous beers and the bottle of sake that the green-haired man had already drunk at the club. He wondered if Zoro was one of those guys who just sank alcohol until he passed out. Which was another reason to distract him by keeping him talking.

 

 

A fresh memory from the club surfaced in Sanji’s mind: that second sake glass, that Zoro had filled and which had then sat undrunk opposite him for the entire night. That weird moment at midnight, when he’d seen Zoro touch his own glass to it, then raise a silent toast. “I was wondering... The sake. Is that a Japanese New Year’s thing?”

Zoro took a sip of whiskey, not looking at him. “Yeah.”

“Not exactly a cheap tradition... I mean, you dropped over a hundred bucks on drinks in there.”

Zoro shrugged. “I don’t have to pay much rent, crashing at Luffy’s. And I don’t go out that often. It was New Year’s, I figured what the hell.”

“Uh huh.” Sanji made a noise of agreement. “Even so... Why go to that place tonight, for fuck’s sake? I mean, no offence intended, but you don’t exactly strike me as the kind of guy who fits Club Greedy’s demographic.”

Zoro gave a half-smile. “That I’ll take as a compliment... No, that place definitely wasn’t my usual kind of hang-out. But one of my clients at the gym had a bunch of complimentary New Year’s Eve tickets, gave me one as a Christmas bonus. So I figured why the hell not. I thought it might be less crazed than just going to a bar.” He paused: his mouth twisted ironically. “My mistake.”

 

 

Sanji hesitated, before risking the question he really wanted to know the answer to. “So you weren’t... planning to meet up with someone there?”

Zoro’s dark gaze switched up to meet his. “What made you think that?”

“Well, it being New Year’s and all...” Sanji gestured airily with one hand. “That, and the fact you asked for a second sake glass.”

 

 

There was an immediate drop in temperature. Zoro’s gaze stayed on the chef’s, but there was no warmth left in it at all now. “They pay you extra for customer surveillance?”

Sanji set his wine glass down on the table. “Forget I asked.”

“I’m surprised you had time to notice so much, what with all the flirting you were doing with those women you were serving drinks to. I was pretty sure you were going to drool on some of them.” Zoro’s tones were as unfriendly as his eyes.

Sanji’s mouth tightened. “Okay, first off: being _sociable_ is part of the job, shithead. Secondly, what’s your problem? They were gorgeous women and I happen to like women. I happen to like _flirting_ with women. If that offends you, tough shit.”

Zoro’s mouth also tightened, into a hard line. “I don’t give a fuck what you do, shitty cook.”

Sanji rolled his eyes. “I _also_ happen to like men. I like _people_ , period. If that offends you, I refer you to my previous statement.”

 

 

There was a short silence. After a few seconds, Zoro said slowly, “You’re bi.”

“Ta daaa!” Sanji made a triumphal sound. “Now you’re getting it.”

Zoro was silent for a moment longer... Before he said in a careful voice, “That explains a lot.”

Sanji bristled. “Meaning?”

“Nothing bad... I just...” Zoro’s hand reached up and rubbed the back of his head, stirring his hair up into spikes. Sanji recognised the gesture from when the other man had done it in the street outside the club: it evidently signalled discomfort. “Fuck. I just was getting mixed messages, I guess. Back at the club I got this vibe off you that you were... checking me out, I thought. But then it seemed like you were perving over the women, so...”

“ _Perving?”_ Sanji’s hackles lifted a second time. “I was not perving, you shithead!”

Zoro gave him a look. “When that chick leaned over the bar, your eyes were on stalks.”

“They were not!” Sanji felt his outrage growing, and got it under control with an effort. “Anyhow, how come you noticed so much about what I was doing? Sounds like you were doing some checking out of your own.”

 

 

A slight flush came onto Zoro’s cheekbones that was hugely gratifying. “In your dreams.”

“Ha.” Sanji pointed at him with his cigarette. “Admit it. You were scoping me out.”

“Like hell, shitty cook.” The flush deepened: Sanji felt a nice warm glow of confirmation. He decided that he could be magnanimous in light of this fact. Plus, he still hadn’t got to the bottom of what he’d wanted to know. “So... Leaving aside for the moment the undeniable fact that you were definitely checking me out... I’m still wondering, why the second glass of sake. Is that a Japanese thing too... or were you actually waiting for someone?” Sanji’s heart sped up a little: it felt like a dangerous question to persist with, given Zoro’s reaction a few moments ago. But he really wanted to know. Not least because if Zoro had been waiting for someone who hadn’t shown up, Sanji wasn’t entirely on board with the idea of being rebound guy.

 

 

Zoro’s reaction wasn’t as hostile as the last time, but his hand clenched on his glass of whiskey. “No-one who was going to show up.”

Sanji looked at Zoro’s other hand, where it rested on his knee. The fingers of that hand had clenched too, so tightly that the knuckles had gone white.

 

 

Speaking quietly, Sanji said, “Okay, none of my business - ”

“Yeah.” Zoro’s voice cut through his.

“I’m sorry - ”

“It was for an absent friend.” Zoro’s voice had an edge to it, but it wasn’t the hard edge from before. It was the sound of someone keeping a very, very close grip on something to stop it from unravelling. “That’s why the second glass.”

Sanji wasn’t sure where this was going. “If this bothers you... you don’t have to talk about it.”

 

 

Zoro shut his eyes, just for a moment. Opened them and shook his head. “You know what the worst thing about New Year’s is? Everyone’s partying, hanging out with their friends, celebrating, making resolutions about how they’re going to do great stuff with their lives. Feeling good. So if you are feeling like shit, it makes it a hundred times worse.”

Sanji nodded. “Like Christmas. Same deal.”

“Maybe.” Zoro stared down at the floor, arms resting across his knees. “I don’t know. I just fucking hate New Year’s.”

 

 

 _Relationship break-up?_ Sanji had an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. “So your... friend... You knew they weren’t going to show?”

“Yeah.” Zoro managed to drag his gaze up from the floor and approximately meet Sanji’s for a moment. His mouth tightened, then he let out a breath. “Long fucking story.” He rubbed a hand across his mouth, then looked towards the doorway. “Maybe I should call that cab.”

 

 

Sanji recognised an escape attempt when he saw it. And felt an immediate gut reaction at the idea of Zoro walking out the door now. The thing that was coiled up inside him flexed its muscles... And over that, the part of his brain that was still thinking, that was really paying attention to the vibe that Zoro was giving off, knew that whatever the other man was holding back was something major.

Quietly, he said, “You want to go, that’s your choice.” Zoro’s gaze came back to him: Sanji nodded. “You want to stay and talk, that’s your choice. Or stay and not say another fucking word, if that’s what you want. I don’t have a problem with any of the above. Including listening... if that’s what’s worrying you.”

 

 

There was a long silence. At last Zoro took a heavy breath. Then spoke, slowly. “You know... That I said I started hanging out at a dojo, when I was younger?”

“Yeah.” Sanji reached for his glass of wine, feeling that he needed something to occupy his hands. “And the guy who ran it got you into kendo. Competing and stuff.”

Zoro nodded. “Koshiro. He was good to me. Decent. Like, didn’t write me off, even though I fucked up a few times. Kept telling me I could get my shit together, make something of myself, if I worked at it.”

“He sounds like a good person.”

“He was. Is, I mean... He’s still around. Still running his dojo, in that same shitty neighbourhood.” Zoro gave a fleeting smile. “Giving more kids a second chance not to fuck up.”

Sanji waited. After another pause, Zoro went on. “I got on okay at the dojo. Turned out kendo was something I was good at. Maybe the first thing I’d ever been good at. And I wanted to be the best. But there was a problem.”

“Someone was better?”

“Yeah. Koshiro’s star pupil.” Zoro’s mouth twitched. “Kuina. His daughter.”

 

 

Sanji took a sip of wine. Zoro got a half-smile on his face. “She was two years older than me, and she’d been training with her dad since she was six. She ruled that fucking dojo. And I wanted to beat her so bad, I fought matches with her like... once a week, every week. And she wiped the floor with me, every fucking time. It drove me nuts. I just wanted what she had: this life where she had Koshiro’s attention, his coaching, his _respect_. And then one time after we’d fought and she’d handed me my ass for the thousandth time, I lost it and started saying all kinds of stupid shit. How she had an advantage because of her dad, how he’d taught her all these moves, how I had no chance of ever catching up because she’d always be a step ahead of me.”

Sanji found it hard to picture anyone taking Zoro down. Kuina sounded like an interesting character. “What did she say?”

Zoro let out a short laugh. “She told me to stop being such a whiner. Before going on to explain to me, in great detail, exactly how much it sucks to be a girl when your dad is a kendo sensei who actually wanted a son who could one day win at world championship level. Because supposedly women don’t have the physique to compete with men on an equal footing.” He shook his head. “He actually said some of this to her. On her tenth birthday. He figured he was doing her a favour. Helping her not to have unrealistic expectations, get disappointed later in life.”

Sanji set down his glass of wine. “Okay. I’m now thinking, not such a cool guy.”

 

 

Zoro reached for his own drink: took a swallow, then sat with it cradled in both hands. “I don’t know... Maybe, by his lights, he was doing what he thought was best. But it fucked with Kuina’s head, big time. What he thought mattered to her. So even though she didn’t let it stop her from fighting, it was like there was always this nagging shitty thought in the back of her head: that her own father didn’t think she could be a world champion. Just because she was a woman.”

“Doesn’t sound like it affected her abilities much.”

Zoro smiled grimly. “When she told me that day, I could see she was fucked up over it. And I remember thinking, this _sucks._ I mean, here was this person with this immense natural talent, plus the attitude you need to really go the distance, and she had this big hollow place inside. It made me really mad with Koshiro. So right then and there, I told her: he may be your old man, but on this thing, he’s wrong. And I told that if she let anyone, her father included, tell her that what she wanted from life couldn’t happen, she might as well roll over and die. And that meant she was a shit fighter who deserved to lose.”

Sanji smiled at this. “And what was her reaction?”

“She decked me.” Zoro grimaced.

Sanji chuckled. “Kudos to her.”

 

 

Zoro looked at him, before smiling too. “Yeah. And even though we were constantly at each other’s throats, trying to be the biggest hotshot in the dojo... We somehow wound up as friends. I mean, we still fought – and she still beat me – but we both just felt like - I don’t know, that we had each other’s back. I knew about how bugged she felt about what her dad thought; and she knew about how messed up my life had been. We could just be who we were around each other, and know that the other one got it. Room to breathe.”

Sanji nodded slowly. “I’ve got a friend like that. Hell, everyone needs someone like that.”

“Yeah.” Zoro exhaled slowly. “I’d never had that before. I’d always relied on myself. But Kuina being my friend got me through all kinds of shit. Not least when I came out.” His eyes narrowed slightly. “Gay rights aren’t exactly high on the agenda in kendo and martial arts circles. Unsurprisingly.”

“You were out when you were competing?”

“I don’t hide who I am.” Zoro said this simply. “So if dating or girls came up in conversation, which when don’t they, I just said that I liked guys.” He gave a brief humourless smile. “Try saying that in a men’s locker room full of half-naked kendo fighters. I think I would’ve had to fight my way out of a lot more places, if it hadn’t been for the fact that most of them were freaking out about getting anywhere near me.”

Sanji flicked ash off the end of his cigarette. “And Kuina knew you were gay.”

“She was the first person I told.” Zoro shook his head. “I came out with it one day, and she just gave me this look and said ‘Atarimae.’ ” At Sanji’s look of incomprehension, Zoro translated. “ ‘Well, duh.’ ”

Sanji laughed. “Good reaction.”

 

 

Zoro slowly turned his glass of whiskey between both hands. “Yeah. Like I said, we got each other. For a while we were like this tag team against the rest of the world, because it pretty much felt like the rest of the world wasn’t interested in allowing us space to be who we were.”

“Did Kuina’s dad ever change his attitude about the female kendo fighter thing?”

“He started to.” Zoro smiled wryly. “He didn’t have a whole lot of choice. Kuina was on fire. She could take down anyone she came across. In official competitions she was always fighting other female fighters, that’s the way the sport is set up: men’s kendo, and women’s. But when we had competitions at the dojo, when other clubs visited, she’d take on all-comers. She used to come out in full kit, so they couldn’t see she was a woman, and wipe the floor with them: then she’d take off her helmet and you’d see these tough guys do a double-take when they realised they’d just been smacked down by a woman. Never failed to give me a big laugh.”

“You’d think her dad would have been proud of her.”

“He was.” Zoro gave a half-shake of his head. “But there’s still this expectation in traditional Japanese culture, how girls and women should be. Y’know, home-makers, feminine, family-orientated. So Kuina did a big ‘fuck you’ to all that. Not just with the kendo... She got into J-rock, women’s bands. When she wasn’t whacking kendo opponents, she was jumping up and down in mosh-pits, getting some new part of herself pierced or dyeing her hair weird colours, which was pretty much guaranteed to piss Koshiro off as you can imagine. She was the one who was responsible for this.” He ran his fingers through his dyed green hair. “She talked me into it... But I kind of liked how it made people react, so I kept it.”

 

 

Sanji regarded the other man’s hair appraisingly. “I just thought you were some kind of retro punk casualty.”

“Up you, swirly.” Zoro extended his middle finger at the chef. “With eyebrows like yours, I’d keep my fucking mouth shut.”

Sanji blew a long stream of smoke in the other man’s direction. “Make me.”

Zoro’s jaw got a determined set to it... Before his mouth curved into that slow shark-like grin Sanji had seen earlier. “No problem.”

“Focus, moss-head.” Sanji gestured at him with his cigarette. “Finish the fucking story.”

 

 

Zoro’s grin melted away, and Sanji almost wished he could take those words back. But the green-haired man simply lifted his glass and took a drink, before picking up his narrative. “Kuina and me both kept competing in kendo tournaments. Went out partying afterwards, after we’d wiped the floor with our respective opponents. Kept on saying ‘Fuck you’ to the universe. Celebrated my twenty-first birthday by dancing ourselves crazy to _Roller Coaster_ , at a Red Bacteria Vacuum gig in this shitty basement club.” An expression that revealed how good the memories were lightened his face. Sanji was struck again by how different Zoro looked when he smiled. “Fuck... That was a good night.” His thumb stroked up and down his glass: he gazed at it meditatively. Then abruptly, all the light went out of his eyes. “That was a couple of months before New Year’s.”

Sanji heard Zoro’s voice grow flat. And knew this story was coming to its heart. Half of him wanted to back away from it, but to do that now would make him the shittiest kind of human being imaginable. He said nothing: kept his gaze on the other man.

 

 

“We both had kendo matches, at a regional tournament a few days after Christmas. So we were staying over in a town we didn’t know, which wasn’t too unusual. Fought our matches and won ‘em. Then it was New Year’s Eve so we went out to celebrate.” Zoro stared at the half inch of whiskey left in his glass: then lifted it and knocked it back before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “It wasn’t a big town, so we weren’t exactly overburdened with options of where to hang out. We wound up in this lame club near the motel we were staying at, dancing to all this cheesey music... laughing ourselves stupid. The locals didn’t have a fucking clue what to make of us.”

“Sounds like a cool way to spend New Year.” Sanji wasn’t sure why he’d said that. Except that he wanted to say something good, reassuring, because the edge was back in Zoro’s voice.

“Dumb fucking thing to do.” Zoro was frowning at his empty glass, where it rested on the table with his hand still holding it. “We came off the dance floor and headed upstairs to the bar. And there were these guys, they’d been standing near the top of the stairs, must’ve been watching us. And as we were walking past, one of them just said, ‘Check out the Jap freakshow’. And I could’ve just kept on walking. But I didn’t. I turned around and said, ‘You got a problem?’ And he and his buddies were straight away up in my face, like they’d been waiting for it. And that’s when Kuina stepped right into the middle of it. She just said, ‘Leave us alone.’ Not like she was afraid; hell, she was never afraid of anything. Then that meathead gave her this shitty look and said, ‘Why don’t you and your freak boyfriend fuck off back to whatever lowlife place you usually hang out in, you ugly-ass gook bitch.’ ”

Sanji winced. “Bastard...”

“So Kuina told him, ‘You’re giving out ugly awards, go take a look in the mirror.’ ” Zoro’s mouth tightened. “And then that drunken fuck went for her.”

 

 

“He hit her?” Sanji had a sick sense that this was a story with a very bad ending. From the tension in Zoro's shoulders: by the way the other man's fingers were now closed so tightly around the glass he was still holding that his knuckles were bone-white. But mostly he knew from Zoro's eyes. They were staring at the table between them. Not seeing what was actually there.

“That asshole shoved her.” Zoro paused for a moment, his eyes still focussing on another reality. He looked as though he was trying to remember, trying to order things in his mind. “She wasn't expecting it. I mean, you fucking don't, right? Even when it's a club and people have been drinking all night, you still kind of expect that people will act, y'know: halfway civilised. So she just didn't react when he pushed her. Neither did I.” He stopped again, frowning at the table.

 

 

Sanji let the silence stretch for almost a minute. Then he said quietly, “So he pushed her.”

Zoro still gazed downwards, but he started speaking again. “We were standing just by the top of the stairs that led down to the dance floor. I could have caught her if I'd been quicker, or maybe if she fallen differently she could've grabbed the rail, caught herself. But what happened was, she went backwards down the stairs. It wasn't far, maybe a dozen steps. But it was enough.”

Sanji felt queasy. “Holy shit...”

“She hit her head, when she fell.” Zoro reached up with one hand and lightly tapped the side of his head, just above his ear. “Right here... is your temporal bone. It's thinner than the rest of your skull. It breaks more easily.”

“Fuck...” Sanji flinched. “She fractured her skull?”

“Depressed temporal bone fracture, from blunt force trauma.” Zoro sounded like he was reading this off from somewhere inside his brain. Despite the fact that he was holding himself rigidly still, his voice was oddly uninflected. Almost calm-sounding. Sanji didn't trust that calmness though.

“Did she... Was she...” Sanji wanted there to be an ending to this that wasn't tragedy. Despite the fact that he had never even known this young woman, that he didn't know Zoro either. Fucksake, Zoro was just some guy he'd met tonight in a club. The guy who'd caused him to get fired. And yeah, maybe Sanji also had been mentally undressing him for at least part of the evening, and maybe a big part of why he'd originally invited Zoro to his apartment was the hope of getting a little New Year's Eve action. Because being on your own on New Year's Eve sucked, so what the hell was wrong with that?

Yet now, sitting across the table from Zoro, Sanji felt all the night's festive craziness and verbal sparring and adrenalin coalesce down into a single point, like the tip of a knife. Zoro sat quite motionless and kept his eyes focussed on the table. And spoke quietly. And seemed perfectly controlled, after having drunk alcohol in quantities that would have put most people into a coma.

 

 

“When I got to the bottom of the stairs she was unconscious.” Zoro at last released his grip on his empty glass: pushed it a few inches away from him. “They called paramedics and got her to hospital, but she didn't regain consciousness. When they scanned her, they found an acute epidural haematoma.”

Sanji was baffled by the clinical terminology. “What the hell is that?”

Zoro's eyes flicked up: met his gaze. “The blood vessels inside your skull get ruptured, and you bleed internally. The blood forms a pool between your skull and your brain, and the pool gets bigger and bigger. Basically, your brain gets squeezed.”

Now Sanji could understand the need for clean, obscuring clinical phrases. “Uh... That's... Could they treat it?”

“Sure. To treat it, they basically carve holes in your skull. To release the pressure.” Zoro's eyes still held Sanji's. “And to suck out the blood that's leaked from the ruptured vessels. Or if drilling a few holes doesn't work, they saw out a section of your skull.”

 

 

Sanji felt sick now. “Did she... Did it go okay?” He thought he could guess the answer.

Zoro's eyes broke from Sanji's, his gaze shifting sideways. “She came out of surgery and went onto life support. For two weeks. The doctors said if she came out of it, she'd have brain damage. Seizures. Maybe paralysis.” He took a breath: gave a stiff shake of his head. “But she just... never woke up.”

“Jesus...” Sanji swallowed. “Zoro... Fuck. I’m sorry.”

Zoro propped his head on one hand, thrusting his fingers into his hair. “Her dad pretty much stayed at the hospital the whole time. The two of us took it in turns, sitting there with her in the ICU. I just kept thinking, she’s tough, she’s fighter, she’ll open her eyes soon. But she didn’t. And when the doctors told us she’d gone, I just started yelling at them. Koshiro had to drag me the hell out of there.” He gave another clumsy shake of his head, as if trying to shake the memories off. “It wasn’t my finest hour.”

“You’d just lost your friend.”

“He’d just lost his daughter.” Zoro’s fingers clenched on his hair as if he was trying to pull it out at the roots. “I must have said sorry to him about a hundred times. All I could think was, if I hadn’t got in that guy’s face, if I hadn’t reacted to what he’d said, Kuina would still have been alive. That’s what I said, to Koshiro. And you know what he answered?” Zoro took a breath. “He said, ‘You did not push my daughter down those stairs.’ ”

“He was right.” Sanji leaned forward, his instinct to reach out to the other man fighting with a wariness of how Zoro would react. He caught himself; stayed still.

 

 

There was a long pause. At last Zoro’s hand unclenched from his hair, though his head stayed propped in his hand. “...Yeah. I understood that. Eventually.” A breath drew in between his teeth: released unsteadily. “Standing in a courtroom listening to some lawyer tell the whole story, when they tried the son-of-a-bitch who pushed her. I understood then, who was to blame. When that fucker stood up in court and said he hadn't known what he was doing. Because he was so drunk.” Zoro gave a slight shake of his head, his teeth still clenched. “And said he was really sorry. Like that made a difference.”

“Being drunk was no excuse.” Sanji was filling up with anger.

“Jury seemed to think so. That and the _genuine and heartfelt remorse_ the bastard showed.” Zoro pronounced these words with unmistakeable venom. “He got eighteen months custodial, for involuntary manslaughter. He was out in twelve on parole.”

“No fucking way...”

“Know what one of the worst parts was?” Zoro’s gaze lifted to meet Sanji’s. “Sitting there with Koshiro and listening to the defense attorney saying how Kuina had provoked this shithead into retaliating. That she'd acted in a 'confrontational manner'. Like she’d brought the whole thing on herself.” Zoro let out a hard breath. “Because when some drunken fuck starts calling you a freak because he doesn't like the colour of your skin or the way you dress, or the fact you've got piercings, or who you happen to like getting in the sack with, or if you in any way challenge their limited horizons... What you should do is back the hell off and take it. Don't even think about standing up for yourself, or for your friends, because that's asking for a slap-down. If some dickhead shoves you, don’t think about shoving back. If you're not _normal_ then just get used to taking shit, because some morons happen to find your very existence provocative.”

 

 

 _O yeah,_ Sanji thought. _Been there, done that, bought the t-shirt._

 

 

There was a long silence. At last Zoro blinked. Gave a half shake of his head. “Uh. I... Shit. Sorry.” He rubbed his hand slowly over his face, as though he was trying to erase everything that had just been said. “I had no idea I was going to do this. This is... Fuck...” His voice sounded rough. As if getting the words out had injured it. “This... This is not what you had in mind when you invited me back here... I’m pretty sure.”

Sanji regarded him steadily; pursed his lips a little, before replying. “Shit happens.”

Zoro looked at the phone on the corner of the table. “Maybe... now I better call that cab.”

“Only if you want to.” Sanji spoke calmly. When Zoro’s eyes came back to his, Sanji gave a small smile. “When I said I didn’t have a problem with listening, I meant it.”

Zoro seemed to study the Sanji’s face for a long moment, as if trying to assess the authenticity of the chef’s statement. At last he spoke again. “Not exactly a feel-good story.”

“True stories rarely are.” Sanji rested his elbows on the table. “But that doesn’t mean people shouldn’t hear them.”

 

 

Zoro nodded slowly. Took a deep breath. “Well... So. That’s why. New Year’s Eve... Why I fucking hate it.”

Sanji also nodded. “I’d say you were entitled.” After a pause, he continued. “But what I don’t understand, is why you’d go to a club tonight. I mean... Fuck, it must be the last place you’d want to be. With... the memories and all.”

Zoro, head still propped on his hand, elbow on the table, rubbed his fingers slowly back and forth through his hair. “The memories are the same wherever I am. It’s not like I can forget. I tried, at first. The first New Year’s after... I stayed at home on my own and drank myself out cold.”

Sanji grimaced. “That must have taken some doing. You sink alcohol like it has zero effect on you.”

One corner of Zoro’s mouth lifted in a mirthless smile. “Oh, it has an effect on me. It just takes a hell of a lot of it. Fast metabolism or something... hell, I don’t know. I can get drunk, if I try hard enough.” He gave a half-shake of his head. “I sure as hell managed it that night. I wanted just... not to feel. Anything. Which is pretty much what happened. Till I woke up halfway through the next day with a killer hangover and zero recollection of the night before. But the memories of the other stuff... They were still right there.”

“Mhm.” Sanji made a noise of understanding.

Zoro looked away. “And I didn’t just drink. I took... stuff. Shit I hadn’t gone near since my fucked-up days. Got back into some bad old habits for a while. It was fucking stupid, I nearly lost everything. I even dropped out of competing, because turning up for kendo matches strung-out was not something I was going to get away with. Koshiro tried to help, but for a long time I couldn’t face him.”

 

 

Sanji found it difficult to imagine how someone who seemed as capable as Zoro could let his life so spectacularly crash and burn. _Everyone’s fucking mortal._ “How’d you get through it?”

“One day at a time. With frequent fuck-ups along the way.” Zoro’s mouth quirked. “And fortunately, right about then Luffy blew into my life like the force of nature he is and helped me realise that I could either spend the rest of my life feeling bad about what happened and trying to forget it... Or that I could do something with my life that honoured that friendship I’d had with Kuina. That honoured her. Once I worked that out, it was an easy choice to make.”

Sanji smiled. “Good for Luffy.”

“Yeah. I really owe him.” Zoro smiled. “He drives me crazy on a daily basis, but I would go to hell and back for that guy.”

 

 

Sanji pondered this. Stacked it on top of everything else that he’d experienced of Zoro, that evening. Added loyalty to the mix.

Zoro shifted, lifting his head from his hand and sitting back a little in the couch. He suddenly looked wiped: unsurprisingly, considering everything the night had delivered. “And... I suck at saying thanks, you already picked up on that one, but... I really appreciate all this.” The slight flush came again to his cheekbones: he met Sanji’s gaze, but hesitantly. “Y’know. Inviting me back here. The food. And the listening... Fuck.” Once again his hand lifted to rub through his hair. “I, uh... I don’t think I ever told anyone all of this stuff before. You kind of got a shitload dumped on you.”

 

 

Sanji picked up his glass of wine and took a sip, before responding to what the other man had said. “Do I give the impression of being too fragile to handle it?” He paused, and gestured emphatically at Zoro with his wine glass. “Okay: give careful thought before you answer _that_ one.”

“No,” replied Zoro, with a fleeting grin.

“Right answer.” Sanji swallowed another mouthful of wine, before putting his glass down. “So. Continuing in the spirit of honest communication. I get it. What you said: about being different, about people seeing that as an excuse to make you their target. And I get why you stood up to those assholes in the club tonight.” Sanji lifted his hand in an understanding gesture. “Because the alternative is to take it. Take whatever shit they spew at you, which however much you tell yourself doesn’t mean anything, it fucking does. It goes in, it chips away a part of you. It took me the longest time to work that one out... And before I did, it screwed with my head big time.”

 

 

He pointed at his eyebrows. “It started off at school, with these. It was hard fitting in anyway, having moved to this country from France as a kid, not speaking much English at first. I got really good at not showing on my face just how much the name-calling bothered me. But it only worked up to a point, because I have this shitty temper which means I stay cool right up to the point I lose it, and then I go beserker on someone’s ass. When I was a kid I got into a lot of schoolyard fights... Fists, feet, teeth, the whole deal. My old man was forever having to come and haul me home because I’d busted some other kid’s dental work.”

Zoro smiled. “Sounds like you were a tough little kid.”

“Yeah, in some ways. But the tough-guy stuff was sitting on top of this whole mess of insecurity, and the kids who did the name-calling figured that out pretty quickly. It became a popular sport: press Sanji’s buttons and watch him go, Yee-haa! Guaranteed to liven up the day.” Sanji half-closed his eyes, remembering. Even now he found it hard to talk about this subject, without it tying a sick knot in his stomach. “Eventually, after one of these bust-ups, the old man sat me down at home and read me the riot act. Told me it was hard enough being a single parent and keeping a restaurant business running without worrying about the trouble I was getting into on a daily basis. I felt like the whole world was on my case: first the kids at school, then Zeff. I pretty much told him so. At high volume.”

“So what did he do?”

“Two things. Which were strokes of genius, although I didn’t think so at the time. He got me starting to help out in his restaurant after school, so I’d be where he could keep an eye on me. And he took me down the local Y and enrolled me in savate classes.”

“He wanted you to fight?” Zoro raised an eyebrow.

“No: he wanted me to learn some self control. He knew that if I trained at savate, I’d get some discipline kicked into me. And he was right.” Sanji smiled ruefully. “Shitty old geezer.”

 

 

“That’s what you were using in the club tonight? Savate?” Zoro looked intrigued.

Sanji made a so-so gesture with one hand. “Sort of. Not a style that any savate instructor would recognise. I added in a lot of other shit to the classic moves over the years, borrowed stuff off of taekwondo, kick-boxing... And basic street-fighting dirty tricks. Whatever works.”

“Did it get the asshole kids at school off your back?”

“Not for a second. But I got better at not rising to their bait. And the real vicious little fuckers, the ones I _had_ to fight, soon learned to steer clear of me.” Sanji smiled. “I managed to make space to breathe. Like you said earlier.”

“Sounds like your old man made the right call.”

“Yeah. Although it sets my teeth on edge to admit it, he has this real fucking annoying habit of being right a lot of the time. For sure with the savate: it gave me a lot more confidence, not let people get into my head. Which as you can imagine came in handy later in life... With the whole bisexual thing.”

“Mhm.” Zoro made a low sound of assent.

 

 

Sanji paused: looked over at the other man. “So. Like I said... I get it, the having to fight for breathing space. Because being bi, y’know, I have the dubious privilege of getting shit in both communities: gay and straight. Although I’m not stupid, I know it’s not the same, straight people have way more advantages as far as society is concerned... But when someone’s trying to make you feel like crap because of your sexual orientation, weirdly it doesn’t always matter what position they’re coming at it from: you just feel, like, _ouch_. So when I was coming out there were times when it just felt like déjà vu... Like I was back at school with some kid saying shit to me ‘cos of the way I talked or looked. Every now and then, it still does.”

Zoro regarded him. “I guess I didn’t exactly... handle it that well.”

Sanji grinned. “Are you kidding? On the scale of reactions I’ve had, yours was a B plus.”

“Is that better than seven out of ten?” The corner of Zoro’s mouth hiked up.

Sanji chuckled. “More or less.” After a few moments, he added, “And I understand that people often take a little while to figure it. The way things are set up, most people think gay or straight: that’s it. Or maybe ‘confused’ as a third option. Or maybe if they’re trying really hard, they come out with something like, ‘Oh, you like women _and_ men?’ To which I usually reply, ‘Amongst all and any other genders.’ At which point the conversation generally grinds to a halt.” He looked at Zoro. “My last partner was genderqueer. Before them I was seeing a bisexual guy. And I’ve had straight girlfriends. Love is a many-gendered thing, in my experience.”

Zoro appeared to consider this. “Yeah.” He returned Sanji’s gaze. “I always just liked guys. But everyone’s different.” He gave a shrug.

“Yeah. Vive la différence.” Sanji smiled.


	6. Take It Slow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sanji knew self-loathing when he saw it, having been an expert practitioner for too many years himself. It struck a painful chord, seeing its shadow on Zoro’s face.
> 
> Carefully, he stroked his thumb up Zoro’s neck to his cheek. Saw the other man’s eyes return to meet his gaze. Sanji spoke softly. “Everyone makes mistakes. It’s how we work out what to do differently next time.”
> 
> Zoro acknowledged this with another almost imperceptible nod. “I’ve certainly made enough fucking mistakes to last me a lifetime.”

* * *

 

 _Tell me_  
_I need to know_  
_Where do you wanna go_  
  
_'Cause if you're down_  
_I'll take it slow_  
_Make you lose control_

_-       The xx_

 

* * *

 

 

It grew quiet, after the shared stories between them. Sanji debated pouring himself another glass of wine, but decided against it. He was already starting to feel the effects of a nine-hour shift, plus the emotional rollercoaster of the night’s events catching up with him. He reached out and picked up his phone, checking the time on it: almost half past four in the morning. He slid the phone back onto the table, before turning his gaze back to Zoro. The other man had evidently watched him, but his face stayed carefully expressionless.

Sanji gestured at his phone. “Wondered how late it was... Or how early.” He gave Zoro a smile, which morphed into a yawn. “Wuhhhh... ‘Scuse me. It’s going on four-thirty... I’ve been awake twenty-four hours straight, pretty much.”

“I should probably get going.” Zoro responded quietly and readily.

Sanji immediately felt a tug around the pit of his stomach. “You can crash here if you want. I don’t have anywhere I need to be today.” He pulled a face. “Maybe not for a while, if that club manager makes her call through to the agency I usually get my work from.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, it’s fine.” Sanji resisted the urge to add the words, _I want you to stay._

“That would be cool. I don’t much feel like getting my head together to get a cab home right now.” Zoro let out a jaw-cracking yawn of his own.

“Okay.” Sanji played with the stem of his wine glass, before letting it go. Decided to quit avoiding the issue. “Then stay.” His eyes flicked up to Zoro’s face. “And this shouldn’t be hard to say, after all the stuff we’ve been talking about tonight, but it fucking is, so I’m just gonna say it. I’m hoping that by ‘crash here’ you understand I don’t mean you have to sleep on the couch. Unless you want to.”

There was a beat of silence. Sanji felt his heart hammer against his rib cage and worked hard at not showing it. But all that happened, after a few more seconds of quiet, was that a slow smile came onto Zoro’s face. “I was really hoping you would say something like that.”

                                  

 

A little New Year’s Eve firework party went off in Sanji’s chest. He let an answering smile come onto his own face. “Good.”

Zoro said nothing else: and Sanji realised that actually there was nothing much else that needed saying. He uncoiled from the floor and moved up to sit sideways on the couch, close to the other man. Keeping his gaze on Zoro’s dark eyes, he leaned over until their faces were a couple of inches apart. He wanted to move in all the way, close the gap, but some caution made him murmur, “This okay?”

For an answer Zoro’s head also moved forward, his mouth finding the chef’s: and then they were kissing. Sanji tasted whiskey and the indefinable strangeness that was always the first taste of someone else, that moment of _Uh what_ and then _Mmm_.

It gave him such a head rush he had to clench his hands to hold on to where he was. And then he was moving into the kiss, letting himself go with it, feeling lips tongue teeth, pressure shifting and yielding and pushing until they pulled apart a little and Sanji caught his breath with something that his dignity wouldn’t let him admit was a pant. He drew his head back enough to focus on Zoro and the other man was looking at him with an expression of buzzed desire that Sanji was pretty sure matched his own.

Their eyes checked each other out: reading what was there. Then they were leaning in and kissing again and Sanji felt Zoro’s hand reach round and rest lightly on his side, against his ribs. Pulling him in, just a little. Sanji went with it, working the kiss, using his movement to bring more pressure into where their mouths met. Felt Zoro’s hand slide further round, hold on stronger.

_O yeah._

Sanji let his own hand lift, reaching up to Zoro’s shoulder and then up along the curve of his neck. Curling his hand behind to bring an answering pressure, and still kissing, kissing because the whole fireworks thing was going pretty near supernova now. He held Zoro’s mouth with his own and tried to see how far he could push it, tongue working against tongue, lips pressing hard enough almost to bruise. Felt Zoro push back.

_Fuck –_

Zoro’s arm around him tightened, pulling him closer still. Sanji shifted and moved sideways and up, sliding one leg over and straddling the other man, their mouths still locked together. He brought his free hand up to grip Zoro’s other shoulder. Leaned down into the kiss and then broke it and pulled back, making eye contact again.

 

 

Zoro’s head rested back against the couch, his lips still slightly parted. He held Sanji’s gaze and a slow smile tipped up the edges of his mouth. _Challenge._

Sanji let an answering smile come to his own face, before bending his head down and finding the other man’s neck. Pressing his lips to the hollow of the collar bone; using his tongue and starting to navigate upwards. He felt Zoro react: smiled wider and closed his teeth ever so gently on the skin. A low sound, something between a breath and a groan, told him to keep on going. Working his way up the throat, he found the slivers of gold hanging from Zoro’s ear and switched his tongue into gentlest pressure, teasing his way through them, up Zoro’s earlobe.

There was another almost subsonic hum and Sanji felt Zoro’s hands tighten their grip on his hips. A second later Zoro turned his head and found the chef’s mouth with his own, bringing them back into another hungry kiss. The grip on his sides tightened and Sanji moved with it, Zoro rocking his hips beneath him so that they pressed together in a gut-liquefying movement that this time had them both groaning into each others’ mouths. It felt so good that Sanji lost focus for a minute: when he got it back Zoro was working his way down his neck this time, fastening on to the angle where his throat met his shoulder and kissing there until Sanji felt the blood sting just under the skin.

“Nghh - ” Sanji twitched and instantly Zoro lifted his head away, eyes checking the chef out.

“Too much?”

“Fuck, no.” Sanji gave the other man a smile that showed his teeth, before letting his head tilt slightly to expose his neck. Inviting Zoro to continue. A second later he felt Zoro’s mouth fasten onto his throat again, lips working, tongue pressing until heat ran down inside him, joining the warmth already filling the pit of his stomach.

 

 

Zoro’s hips rocked slightly upwards again, and Sanji let the hands gripping his back pull him firmly into the other man’s lap. Warmth was spreading through his groin now: shamelessly he ground his growing hard-on into the man beneath him. His fingers tightened on Zoro’s shoulders, digging into the muscle beneath the dark grey shirt. He lowered his head and sought the other man’s mouth with his own again, wanting to taste Zoro once more. Zoro’s lips parted readily and then it was that same heady rush of strangeness and wanting, exploring, finding again that faint tang of whiskey and wondering if Zoro could taste cigarettes on him, and not much caring either way.

Sanji felt a tug on his shirt. A second later the shock of skin on skin as Zoro’s fingers infiltrated underneath and slid up his side, spreading across his ribs. It wasn’t that Zoro’s hand was cold: warmth radiated off the other man but Sanji stilled slightly at the touch moving up his body. He opened his eyes and looked into Zoro’s gaze. Let Zoro’s hand drift higher up under his shirt, the brush of the other man’s fingertips dragging against his skin. And then Zoro moved his hand sideways, his thumb finding the nipple, and Sanji started. He felt Zoro’s mouth smile against his and a moment later finger and thumb closed on his nipple and squeezed.

“Mhh...” Sanji couldn’t suppress the sound that came out, and felt his face grow warm.

The smile of Zoro’s mouth against his grew wider. “O... Like that, huh?” Finger and thumb drew together again: gave another slow squeeze.

Sanji breathed out hard, pulling his face back just a little. He met Zoro’s gaze again. Those dark eyes, that in the low light even this close he couldn’t tell whether they were grey or brown. Just steady and intent and below them that smile, lips slightly parted. The line of Zoro’s collarbone disappearing under the open neck of his shirt. A faint dark bloom on his cheekbone where the bruise was starting to come on.

Sanji suddenly bent his head forward again and captured Zoro’s lower lip between his teeth. Tugged at it before letting go, then followed the line of Zoro’s jaw, nipping all the way. He felt Zoro draw in a breath beneath him. Reaching his ear, Sanji closed his teeth around where those three slivers of gold pierced through. Put on the pressure for a few seconds... Before releasing and bringing his lips right against the other man’s ear. “You were saying?” He made sure to breathe the words hard, and felt Zoro shiver slightly.

 

 

The hand resting on his chest, beneath his shirt, tightened. Sanji let it. Keeping one hand holding onto Zoro’s shoulder he trailed the other downwards, across the other man’s chest and stomach. To where their bodies pressed together. Slid his fingers between them and cupped what was growing there and squeezed.

This time it was Zoro’s turn to make an inarticulate sound. Sanji curled his tongue deliberately slowly around the whorls of his ear, before placing his lips close against it to speak once more. “Feel good?”

Zoro let out another sound, a low sigh in the back of his throat. Then he answered simply, “O yeah.”

It was Sanji’s turn to smile now. Brushing his mouth over the skin just in front of Zoro’s ear, he tracked his way slowly back to the other man’s lips, giving him one last lingering kiss before pulling back a little and looking down at him. Zoro, his head still resting against the back of the couch, returned his gaze. Sanji felt the other man’s hand move slightly where it rested against his ribs, stroking ever so slightly downwards.

 

 

“Much as I enjoy making out on a couch,” said Sanji quietly, “how does the thought of moving this into my bedroom strike you?”

Again that slow smile came onto Zoro’s face. “As a really great idea.”

Sanji nodded. Sliding his weight backwards he stood up, pausing only to pick up his phone from the table to turn it off. Zoro rose from the couch too, following close behind when Sanji led the way out of the room.

 

 

They walked almost touching down the passage: Sanji pushed open his bedroom door and made straight for the bedside lamp, flicking it on to fill the room with soft yellow light. He turned back and Zoro was standing just inside the doorway, his gaze taking in the room. That quick assessment of the space, like the way Sanji had seen him do when they’d first arrived at the apartment. Sanji gestured expansively around the room, walking slowly back towards the other man. “Now you’ve had the whole tour. It’s small, but it’s home.”

Zoro’s eyes switched back to the chef. “I like it. Not too... cluttered.”

Sanji let out a short huff of amusement. “Yeah, well... I don’t tend to accumulate possessions. My cooking gear’s the only thing I can afford to spend money on.”

Zoro nodded, his eyes now running over the chef. Sanji crossed the few paces back to the door, gently pushing it shut. As he turned back to face the other man Zoro was suddenly up close, capturing Sanji’s mouth with his own, body pressing against the chef so that Sanji swayed backwards until his shoulders met the door behind him. He made an indeterminate noise, not exactly of protest, hands gripping Zoro’s hips. The other man simply leaned in further, deepening the kiss and using his own hands to consolidate his position: one taking hold of Sanji’s shoulder, the other pushing under the bottom of his shirt and starting to slide upwards. Pinned against the door, Sanji tightened his own fingers and tried to hold some equilibrium. Not wholly successfully, because being kissed by Zoro was effecting some kind of short circuit in his brain that meant it was pretty much all he could do to stay upright and not slide slowly down the door with the other man on top of him.

 

 

A tug at the front of his shirt managed to anchor him back in the here and now, however temporarily. Zoro’s hand under his shirt was questing upwards, fingers travelling over skin, but with Sanji pressed hard back against the door this had the effect of trapping his shirt so that the material pulled uncomfortably tight. Sanji turned his head enough to break their kiss, before growling, “Hah – watch it. You’re gonna rip my shirt.”

Zoro‘s eyes met his, before one corner of his mouth lifted. “Like to rip it off you.”

“Not going to happen, shitty moss-head!” Sanji took hold of Zoro’s arm and tugged downwards, trying to dislodge the hand from its upwards journey. It was like trying to shift a tree. Zoro grinned: at this, Sanji decided to quit playing around. Moving swiftly he hooked one foot around Zoro’s ankle, simultaneously using his elbows against the door behind him to lever them both away from it. The move took Zoro enough by surprise that he was wrong-footed, with the result that they staggered a few paces into the room. Sanji took advantage of his increased freedom, this time bringing one knee between them and lifting it enough to push them apart. Zoro’s hands slid free: he straightened up and gave the chef a considering look.

Sanji gave the other man a warning smile of his own. “I said: watch the shirt.”

Zoro’s brows lifted slightly. “I’d sooner watch what’s underneath it.”

“I’m all in favour of that.” Sanji smirked. “Just, there’s this amazing modern invention that people use these days, for getting out of clothing. They’re called buttons. I’m sure that even you could figure out how to work them, if I explained it slowly and carefully to you in words of one syllable.” He started walking towards the bed.

 

 

Zoro followed, stepping in close again. “I don’t need instructions.”

“Good.” Sanji didn’t wait for Zoro to reach out, pre-empting him by sliding his arms up and round the wide shoulders, pulling his head down into a kiss. He felt fingers move up against his chest; a slight tug and movement as his shirt was slowly unbuttoned. Deliberately slowly. If it was possible to unbutton a shirt with ironic emphasis, that was what Zoro was doing.

Sanji let it continue until he felt the last button slide free and Zoro’s hands pull his shirt open and slide it off his shoulders... and then he pushed the other man back, having manoeuvred them close enough to the bed that Zoro caught his heel against it and lost his balance, sprawling back onto it with a startled exclamation.

Sanji grinned down at him. “Make yourself comfortable.”

Zoro scowled... But the scowl swiftly morphed into a dangerous smile. “I plan to.” One hand moved up so quickly Sanji didn’t see it coming: it closed around his wrist and tugged irresistibly, yanking the chef forwards and down to sprawl on top of Zoro. It happened so quickly that Sanji let out a slight yelp. He tried and failed to get his hands onto the bed to push himself up: Zoro’s arms wound around him before the other man rolled them both, so that Sanji found himself on his back looking up at Zoro. Who was bearing an undeniably smug look of triumph. “Okay, I’m comfy. How about you?”

 

 

Sanji shifted slightly beneath the other man’s weight, trying to calculate how to turn the tables. “Great, thanks.”

The smile on Zoro’s face deepened... Before he bent his head downwards, seeking Sanji’s mouth with his own. The chef let it happen, giving way to the kiss to buy thinking time. And then forgetting about thinking.

_O holy fuck._

It felt so good. Sanji had always loved kissing, _and Jesus fucking Christ_ , Zoro could kiss. Sanji felt warmth fill his mouth; blossom and run down his throat, down the length of his body to his toes. Taking in other... fairly central areas en route.

 

 

A hand spread across his ribs, fingers tracking upwards. Found his nipple again and teased it, as Zoro’s tongue teased his mouth. Sanji actually _squirmed_ on the bed, letting out an inarticulate sound, then almost squirmed again from embarrassment. Zoro’s fingers tweaked at him once more and Sanji pulled in a breath, before dragging his mouth free to gasp, “You - got a thing for - nipples, or something?”

Zoro eased off the pressure slightly, looking down at him. “Hm... And you don’t?” Again with the slow smile. The rough brush of Zoro’s thumb across the already sensitised flesh made Sanji twitch.

“Mmh...” Sanji let out another exhalation, his head arching back, eyes shutting for a moment. When he opened them again, Zoro was gazing down at him with a slightly dazed expression. Sanji raised his eyebrows. “You all right?”

Zoro blinked. A flush crept across his face. He took a breath, before bending his head downwards and kissing the chef hard again. “Yeah.”

Sanji heard in that single word Zoro’s voice go unsteady, but not in a bad way. Felt his world light up with a big warm bright glow. _That feeling. When you know you’re falling off the edge but they’re falling with you._

He kissed Zoro back, and then because he wanted more skin on skin, needed it, he reached up and found the collar of Zoro’s shirt. Began unfastening buttons, working his way swiftly down the front. He only got halfway before Zoro pushed himself back up to kneeling, caught hold of the bottom of his shirt himself and stripped it off over his head, before tossing it away over the edge of the bed.

 

 

Sanji had pushed himself up on his elbows as Zoro knelt back. His eyes ran down from Zoro’s bare shoulders – _O fucking god, yes_ – and toned arms, downwards to his body. Where his gaze stopped: caught and held, a jarring note breaking through the rising warm tide that was sweeping them along.

Across Zoro’s body a scar swept in a long diagonal that ran almost from his left shoulder to his right hip. It was evidently several years old, and looked like it had been doctored by someone with their eyes shut. And whatever knife, or machete, or whatever the hell had done it, Zoro must have been lucky to have walked away with his life afterwards.

 

 

-       _I grew up in kind of a shitty neighbourhood myself. I was running on the edge of getting into serious trouble._

 

 

Sanji didn’t realise he’d been staring until the stillness between them finally registered. He felt tension come into the body above his: quickly lifted his eyes and saw Zoro looking down at him, his face gone neutral. Expressionless. Waiting for Sanji to react, with shock. Or disgust.

As soon as Sanji realised this, he pushed himself away from the bed, sitting upright. Slid one arm around the other man, lifting his other hand up to cup the back of his head and pull Zoro into a kiss. For a moment the tension stayed in the other man’s body: then Zoro relaxed, responding to Sanji’s touch.

After the kiss ended Sanji still held him, rubbing his cheek slowly against Zoro’s, breathing in the smell of his skin. Letting his hand wander slowly along the small of Zoro’s back.

At last they drew apart a little. Zoro’s eyes found Sanji’s and there was still a wariness there. “You want to get the Frankenstein jokes out of the way... Now’s the time to do it.”

Sanji pursed his lips, as if actually considering this. Then shook his head. “Nah. That’d be just too... _obvious_.”

Zoro’s lips twitched. “Doesn’t usually stop people.”

 

 

Sanji actually felt a burst of anger then. Not at Zoro: at whoever in the past had been crass enough to have made fun of that scar. “You must have hung out with some total assholes, if you don’t mind me saying so.”

“Yeah, well...” Zoro acknowledged the apparent truth of this with a small shrug. “It tends to catch people by surprise.”

“Mhm.” Sanji grunted in understanding. “I guess it’s not exactly the kind of thing you can easily slip into conversation.”

“Not so much,” Zoro agreed. His eyes rested on the chef’s, apparently trying to assess what was there. “I can still go sleep on the couch, if you want.” An attempt at a smile twisted up the corners of his mouth.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Sanji warned him, using his hand on the small of Zoro’s back to pull the other man in close. After a momentary hesitation he felt Zoro give way to the pressure, leaning in until they were wrapped around one another. Sanji rested his chin on the other man’s shoulder, mouth close to his ear. Quietly, he said, “Actually, you are so fucking hot I’m having difficulty concentrating. Just so you know.”

 

 

He heard Zoro let out a soft incredulous snort of laughter, as if doubting the sincerity of the statement. At this Sanji scowled: reached for the other man’s ribs with finger and thumb and gave the skin there a hard pinch.

“Ow!” Zoro jumped. “What the fuck was that for, shitty cook?”

“For being a moron.” Sanji leaned back until he could look the other man in the eyes, holding his gaze. “And for having no manners. I just paid you a compliment, asshole. Accept it gracefully.”

Zoro’s brows furrowed slightly. “I thought you were joking.”

“No, moss-for-brains. That was me being nice. Savour it, it doesn’t happen very often.”

After a moment’s pause, Zoro slightly nodded his head. His eyes studied Sanji’s... Before he found Sani’s hand with his own and interlinked their fingers. “Okay.”

 

 

There was a stillness that lasted for a while. Sanji sat quietly, his legs either side of Zoro’s hips, his hand still resting on the small of Zoro’s back. He could feel the warmth of Zoro’s skin; the curve of his spine; the solid firmness of the muscles beneath his fingers. The tension seemed to have lifted, but he felt the need to go slowly. Carefully. He wanted to look at Zoro, to run his gaze over that mouth-watering body, to savour it. Even the scar, and _fuck_ , he knew that wasn’t right, was he doing some sick fetish thing, that would be even worse than cracking some stupid fucking joke –

Sanji felt a mix of adrenalin and fatigue swirl itself into a tight little cyclone of anxiety in his chest, and tried to put a brake on his thinking.

_Okay, stop._

The rush of hostile body chemistry did its usual two tricks: accelerated his heart rate until it thumped in his ears, and brought a tide of heat that made his skin prickle with sweat.

_O, really fucking attractive._

 

 

Frustrated with the shortcomings of his own nervous system, Sanji shut his eyes and focussed on his breathing. On slowing it down. In. Out. Steady and light.

A touch on his mouth surprised him and his eyes opened again involuntarily: Zoro kissing him. It was cautious and exploratory, in a way that none of Zoro’s previous contact had been. When the kiss ended, Zoro pulled back his head a little to look slightly questioningly into Sanji’s eyes. Sanji felt pressure on his fingers and realised he had tightened his hand on Zoro’s, clenching his grip. He eased off immediately.

“You still with me?” Zoro put the question in a quiet voice, his eyes still studying the chef’s face.

“Umm... Yeah.” Sanji carried out a rapid internal diagnostic: all systems returning to normal. He attempted a nonchalant smile. “Why’d you ask?”

Zoro was evidently observant enough not to be fooled. “Because for a minute or so there it seemed like you were somewhere else.”

 

 

Sanji took a long, slow breath in and out. “Temporary blip. I’m definitely here.”

Zoro’s thumb stroked back and forth on the back of his hand. “I know it looks like shit. But if you’re worrying that I’m involved in some kind of fucking yakuza gang warfare - ”

“I wasn’t thinking anything of the sort.” Sanji mentally erased his fleeting speculation from earlier in the evening, when he’d toyed with exactly that notion. “And you don’t have to explain anything to me.” He knew there was a story there, and knew he didn’t want to hear it right now. Didn’t want Zoro to have to yield up any more parts of himself. Didn’t want Zoro to do anything except be here, in this moment. The two of them.

 

 

Sanji bent his head forward and pressed his lips on the notch in Zoro’s collarbone. Let his tongue stroke against the skin, drawing slow circles there. Made it travel along the hollow that curved around Zoro’s neck: up towards his ear.

Zoro’s arms shifted, hands reaching for and gripping Sanji’s hips. Tugging the chef forwards until he was sitting in Zoro’s lap, the green-haired man’s arms wound round Sanji’s waist to hold him there.

Sanji slid his own hands up to cradle both sides of Zoro’s head, tilting it back so he could capture the other man’s mouth. Let the arms wrapped around him draw him closer, then used his hips to push against the other man where their two bodies met. Zoro hummed a low sound in his throat that was felt rather than heard. Sanji flexed his hips again, felt a sweet shudder go through him. Felt Zoro’s hand move round his waist, in between them: fingers tug at his belt.

_O yes_

And then Sanji was working one hand at Zoro’s pants too, both of them unfastening buttons, drawing down zippers, sliding fingers inside to close around heat and hardness filling out the softness, moving into it, _O fucking yes_.

 

 

Sanji rocked his hips in time with the movement of Zoro’s hand; in time with his own. Let himself go, anchored only by the places his body was touching, being touched. Eyes closed until a shift in the world made them open. He was tilting backwards, a hand at the base of his spine. Looked up and Zoro’s dark eyes held his as the other man moved, shifting them both down against the bed. Sanji felt a tug at his waist, as Zoro’s fingers slid under the waistband of his pants. Wordlessly Sanji arched his back, lifting his hips to let the clothing be pulled down, drawn over his shins, away from his feet. Zoro propped himself up just long enough to swiftly and neatly slide off his own clothes, before lying himself down along the chef with a long out-breath that sounded like a sigh of homecoming.

Sanji kissed the mouth that sought his, winding his legs around the ones draped over his own. Felt Zoro’s hardness press against him and pushed his hips up into it, while winding his fingers into Zoro’s hair and tugging his head downwards.

For a while that was enough. Moving against each other, hands sliding, gripping, caressing. Tasting each other’s tongues, mouths, skin. Shifting on the bed so that one was uppermost, then the other. Trying out what felt right, testing responses. Pushing limits. Mapping territories on the body.

 

 

After a little while there was a lull, where their lips drifted apart. Sanji lay along Zoro’s body, fingers stroking slowly over his ribs.

Zoro spoke in a low murmur against Sanji’s neck. “You prefer... anything?”

“As in top or bottom?”

“Uh huh.”

Sanji turned his head until he found Zoro’s mouth: kissed it. “Like it both ways.” Another kiss. “You?”

“Same.” The brevity of Zoro’s words, coupled with a slight tension in his tone, told Sanji that the other man felt slightly hesitant about asking. _Why is it being a responsible adult turns all of us into eight year-olds,_ thought Sanji wryly. _It’s like talking about sex is harder than actually doing it._

 

 

“I play safe.” Sanji didn’t know if that had been Zoro’s next question, but he decided to pre-empt it. “I’m not positive. But I don’t do... any high-risk stuff.”

“Okay.” For a moment it seemed this was going to be Zoro’s only response; then after a few seconds he added, “I’m not positive either. Got tested last year.”

Sanji wondered whether he could ask about this: decided to risk it. “Any particular reason?”

There was quiet for a moment. Sanji lifted his head and looked into the other man’s face. Zoro’s eyes met his: dark, steady. Stroking a hand up Zoro’s arm to his shoulder, Sanji said quickly, “Everyone should get tested. I did, a couple of years back... It was the crappiest week of my life, waiting for the result. Not that there was any major reason I would’ve been positive, it’s just... y’know: kind of a head fuck. Getting it done.”

Zoro gave the slightest, smallest nod of his head. “When I was... messing up, drinking too much, taking shit... I wasn’t exactly making good choices.” His brows drew together in a frown. “Not going to go into the details, but... getting tested was something I knew I had to do.” His mouth drew into a tight line: eyes looking off to the side.

 

 

Sanji knew self-loathing when he saw it, having been an expert practitioner for too many years himself. It struck a painful chord, seeing its shadow on Zoro’s face.

Carefully, he stroked his thumb up Zoro’s neck to his cheek. Saw the other man’s eyes return to meet his gaze. Sanji spoke softly. “Everyone makes mistakes. It’s how we work out what to do differently next time.”

Zoro acknowledged this with another almost imperceptible nod. “I’ve certainly made enough fucking mistakes to last me a lifetime.”

“That’s only a problem if you don’t learn from them.” Sanji took hold of Zoro’s earrings between finger and thumb and gave them a slight tug. “And I’m sincerely hoping that this night isn’t going to be counted as one of them.”

Zoro smiled then. “You mean, getting thrown out of a club for beating on the other customers?”

Sanji saw the shadow fall away from the other man’s features with a sense of relief. “No, idiot. Not that. Although, yeah: that probably qualifies as less than intelligent behaviour.”

“Fuckers had it coming...” Zoro growled, although the smile was still there.

“Indubitably. But maybe not in front of witnesses. You were lucky they didn’t call the cops.”

“That asshole at the bar hit me first,” Zoro pointed out.

“True. But claiming that you responded in self defence with reasonable force might be stretching the truth a little. Especially when you looked like you were enjoying it so much.”

“I wasn’t the only one.” Zoro’s smile took on a slightly snarky quality. “You looked like you were having a pretty good time yourself.”

 

 

That was so undeniably accurate that Sanji had no come-back for it. He settled for changing the subject. “Not as good a time as I’m having now.” That at least was the truth.

Zoro lifted his head up and sketched round Sanji’s lips with his tongue, before settling his head back against the pillow. “Going to get better.”

Sanji felt the truth of that, with a warm shiver that connected straight to his gut. He let out a nice slow breath of sheer happiness. “Yeah.” Lifting one hand from Zoro’s side, he gestured briefly up to the side of the bed. “So, uh... Just to save time-wasting questions later, there’s lube and condoms in the nightstand...”

“Fine.” Zoro reached up and took hold of Sanji’s head, pulling him down into another kiss that did away with the necessity for any further discussion.

 

 

It was some time later before Sanji reconnected with any kind of coherent thought process. Largely because he had let go of thinking as an unnecessary distraction from exploring every inch of Zoro’s skin: with his hands, his mouth, his tongue. Discovering the places that made that sound, that delicious subsonic _Uhmm_ purr from Zoro’s throat; dark eyes closed, head arching back.

And now Sanji himself was making sounds; noises he was doing his best to hold in, lower lip caught between his teeth, but not altogether successfully. Zoro’s tongue was tracing its way from one nipple to the other: wetting the skin, then the sudden chill of breath blown across the wetness. Followed by the insistent nip of teeth.

“Nnn _hhh_...” Sanji twitched against the bed. Kept his eyes shut because he felt self-conscious enough about how thoroughly he was unravelling, without seeing Zoro looking down at him, with that slow smile.

 

 

Now Zoro’s tongue was tracking downwards, over his ribs: to his belly. Across his abs. Pressing into the tender area inside his hip. And Zoro’s fingers drifting over the skin on the opposite side, mirroring the tongue’s progress, a maddeningly light pressure that raised every nerve ending in its path and made Sanji want to clench his fists in the sheet beneath him.

_O fuck. Don’t. Stop._

He wanted the movement to go to where he was hard. Could imagine it, already. His hips gave a slight hitch, an inadvertent summoning for what he was starting to ache for. Felt instead Zoro’s mouth skim across the angle where hip and leg met: start to drift down the muscles of his thigh. Tasting, tonguing, all the way.

It was almost too much. Sanji opened his eyes and looked downwards, measuring his breaths. Zoro lay between his legs, one hand curled around Sanji’s thigh. Deliberately kissing the inside of Sanji’s knee, pressing the chef’s legs open a little wider. Then dark eyes flicked upwards.

 

_I want your mouth on me._

Sanji’s desire read clear in the semi-light. And then Zoro was moving upwards, weight shifting on the bed and Sanji felt warm breath and then tongue and his head tipped back with a soft _Hahhh_ as wanting became having. The soft wet heat of Zoro’s mouth around his cock made the world go away. Sliding slick pressure, then fingers gripping round too, a slow firm stroke to match the tongue that was swirling round his head, along his length.

Sanji managed to lift his head back up, to look. And shuddered, because if anything was going to bring him off quicker than feeling Zoro giving him head, it was watching him doing it. His cock sliding in and out of Zoro’s mouth. Zoro’s fingers moving deliberately, a steady stroking, touch trailing down to squeeze around the base of Sanji’s cock, caressing lower.

 

 

It was more than enough to make him come. Which he didn’t want, not this soon; not that he had much choice, because every muscle in his body was melting into an uncontrollable puddle. Sanji wanted to tell Zoro to stop and didn’t want to: drifted higher on a big warm cloud of pleasure, feeling a charge building like electricity in a thundercloud. And then he felt the other man lift his mouth away and shift upwards on the bed. Felt the warm weight of Zoro’s body: lips settle on his. Managed to open his eyes again.

Zoro was looking down at him. “You okay?”

Sanji felt his slightly numb lips form into an approximate smile, which was the most he felt capable of. “Uhh... Seriously... You have to ask?”

An answering smile came to Zoro’s face, before he dipped his head and kissed the chef again. His body pressed close: Sanji felt his hardness against his belly. Zoro’s lips worked their way along his jaw. A murmur close by his ear. “You make some really good sounds.”

Sanji felt blood flame into his face. “That’s... Okay, don’t tell me stuff like that!”

“Why not?” A nip at his earlobe. “I like making you make interesting noises.”

“Because it’s totally fucking embarrassing, that’s why.” Sanji tried to focus on the conversation, not at all successfully.

“I bet you’re a screamer,” predicted Zoro, with a low chuckle.

“You were making some pretty good noises yourself, moss-head,” Sanji pointed out.

“Mm-hmm,” agreed Zoro, apparently not in the least self conscious about this. His tongue slid along the curve of Sanji’s ear... then into it. Sanji pulled in a long breath, then shivered as the wet warmth of Zoro’s tongue was replaced by the cool movement of blown air. A few seconds later, Zoro’s low tones sounded again. “You are actually blowing my mind with the sexy noises you’re making, and I would really like to fuck you now.”

 

 

Sanji tried to choke back the laughter this abysmally aromantic proposal engendered, and failed totally. “Is that you being seductive?”

“No, that’s me being direct,” Zoro growled.

“No shit.” Sanji got his amusement under control, with an effort. Turning his head so that he could look the other man in the eye, he saw that a flush had spread across Zoro’s cheeks. “Does that mean you’d like a direct answer?”

“If it’s not too much trouble.” Zoro met his gaze challengingly.

“In that case...” Sanji pretended to consider for a few moments, before giving the other man a smirk. “I’m totally on board with the idea. Proceed.”

 

 

Zoro let out a brief exhale... Before bringing his head forward and pushing his tongue so far into Sanji’s mouth the two of them were not so much kissing as wrestling for a busy half minute. Then with a swift movement Zoro pushed himself up on one elbow and rolled towards the edge of the bed. He reached out and pulled the nightstand drawer open, investigating for a few seconds before rolling back to drop a condom on the bed beside them, holding a bottle of lube in one hand. Pausing only to track kisses down Sanji’s ribs, he popped the cap on the lube, working some between his fingers. His other hand trailed down Sanji’s thigh, thumb caressing appreciatively along the line of muscle there.

 

 

Sanji felt the touch of Zoro’s fingertips along his leg like small electric shocks: intense brushes of sensation, tightening the muscles across his groin. He was ready for this, more than ready, but a quick tension was still there in his gut. He felt the hand on his leg move, going to his cock: a moment later, Zoro’s mouth close over it, sinking down. Sanji let out more of what Zoro would no doubt have called _sexy noises_ , air stuttering out of his mouth as he involuntarily lifted his hips in an answering thrust to the man going down on him.

_Holy fuck._

It was all kinds of good. Zoro’s mouth on him, taking him in. Sanji rolled his hips upwards again and Zoro let him, one hand sliding to the chef’s hip as if to guide him. And then a finger, slick with lube, sliding lower to circle against his ass, rimming teasingly, before deliberately slowly pushing inside.

“Fffff...” Sanji breathed out slowly through close-set lips. Focussed on relaxing. Felt Zoro’s tongue swirl around the head of his cock. He opened his eyes, looking downwards, watching himself being taken into Zoro’s mouth. _O fuck, that was hot._ Zoro’s gaze lifted up to him, checking him out. Sanji felt the finger inside him move, slide, in time with the rhythm of his slightly rocking hips. Himself fucking Zoro’s mouth, being finger-fucked. Everything in his belly and groin loosening with heat.

 

 

He felt a second finger push into him. The same careful build of movement, Zoro tuning into him, waiting to feel him relax before working the lube-slick fingers against the ring of muscle. The burn yielding to pleasure as fingertips curled, brushing against the right place. Even the slow scissoring of Zoro’s fingers feeling good, stretching him. Everything unhurried and deliberate and time stretching out too as if it was going backwards.

He was panting now and he knew it was three fingers and he was ready, suddenly needing something in his mouth so that he reached down and tugged at Zoro’s hair, pulling the other man upwards. Kissed him hard and felt himself almost trembling, mouth wet and tasting himself on Zoro and _Fuck how was that hot but it fucking was_.

Zoro was breathing unsteadily and he reached sideways for where the condom lay on the bed. Sanji forestalled him, rolling sideways and grabbing the little foil square. Pushing Zoro to lie back, Sanji ripped the foil open and took out the condom. Bent over Zoro and took hold of his cock with one hand, before rolling the condom on using his mouth. He’d been thinking about doing this for the some time, but his imagination didn’t even come close to how it felt. Taking Zoro into his mouth: when the muscles in Zoro’s abdomen tensed and his hand came up to cup the back of Sanji’s head, pulling the cook in close.

 

With a last swirl of his tongue Sanji pulled slowly off, before reaching for the lube. He repeated the process Zoro had done before, rubbing the lube between his fingers to warm it, before closing his hand over Zoro’s cock and moving it back and forth until the condom was slick and glistening. That done, he took the opportunity to bend his head down and run his tongue over those luscious abs – producing another hard breath from Zoro – before lying down on the bed.

 

 

Zoro shifted onto his side, spooning himself along the chef’s back. Let his hand trail down Sanji’s side; over his hip, sketching along his thigh. The hand curled around and under, sliding to grip the chef’s knee before lifting his leg. Zoro’s hand shifted and Sanji felt the other man’s cock press against him. And then Zoro’s arm curved around the crook of Sanji’s knee, body moulding around the chef’s as he slowly and carefully slid home.

As Zoro entered all the way inside him Sanji looped his arm over the other man’s shoulder, pulling him close against his back. Breathed into it, eyes shutting: centred on the feel of that languorous possession. The heat of Zoro’s body where they pressed together, legs, hips, arms wound round shoulders. And then he felt Zoro’s lips find his, tongue slide in and it was so good. He felt so good. The pressure of Zoro’s arm around his knee. The spread of Zoro’s fingers against his back. The movement that they were both falling into, the rocking that started easy and unhurried and then suddenly found the sweet spot inside that got Sanji throwing back his head as though he was a marionette that had just had all its strings cut. He must have made some kind of noise because Zoro kissed his mouth again and murmured something, sounds of encouragement or urging or obscenities or endearments, it didn’t matter because Sanji was rising high and all he wanted was for this, this, to keep on going.

 

 

A kiss in the angle of his neck put on pressure, hard enough to bruise. Then Zoro’s mouth lifted away: came back, fastening over Sanji’s nipple, tongue flicking at the hardened flesh. Sanji groaned through clenched jaw: groaned again at another roll of Zoro’s hips against his.

-       _I bet you’re a screamer._

He felt Zoro’s arm shift, hand dropping until it wrapped around Sanji’s cock and began to stroke it, in time with his own thrusts. Sanji felt his brain almost dissolve, his free hand fisting into the sheet.

“Hahhh - ”

Zoro’s rhythm changed, subtly. Picked up an urgency. And with it came a harder edge to his breathing, an unevenness that revealed he too was losing hold of everything except the edge they were approaching. But he kept the focus, continuing to angle at that place that was melting Sanji from the inside, filling him up with heat and the fingers stroking against his cock and he really was in this perfect place he could see it breaking like a wave and then he was in it breaking and screaming, _Fucking yes_ , _oh fucking yes_. And coming, and yelling Zoro’s name. Which was enough to tip Zoro over too and they were both shuddering and coming and still moving and coming and Sanji felt Zoro’s mouth on his and the chord of their voices buried in each other.

And then each other’s breath warm and close, and aftershock noises as their bodies slowly shivered; slid; held still.

 

 

After long moments Zoro shifted and his lips pressed a kiss on Sanji’s neck. Before they separated, then lay still again for a while. Lying on their sides, Zoro at Sanji’s back. Sweat cooling down on skin. Nerve-endings still thrumming.

 

 

Sanji gazed through half-open eyes at his own arm curled on the bed. At the texture and shading of the skin. The fall of shadows in the half light.

_Be here, right now._

Zoro’s hand rested on his hip, the warm weight of fingers curled around. Sanji could feel the other man’s breath ghosting between his shoulder blades.

Carefully he propped himself up on his arms, before twisting back round to plant a kiss on Zoro’s mouth. The other man accepted the kiss easily, a smile coming to his lips. Sanji answered it with one of his own. “...Good?”

Zoro’s head shifted slightly in a nod of assent. “Better than good.” He lifted one hand and ran a finger down Sanji’s cheek, before letting his arm fall back onto the bed. “You?”

“Likewise,” Sanji answered. Bending his head down to deliver one more kiss, he then pushed himself up into sitting. “Mmh... You okay if I use the bathroom first?”

“Sure.”

 

 

When they were both back in bed Sanji waited for Zoro to lie back before killing the lamp. He slid alongside the other man’s body and felt Zoro’s arm stretch round his shoulders, the two of them settling together.

Now that he’d turned out the light, a faint glow came from the curtains pulled across the window. Streetlight or maybe even dawn coming up: Sanji had no idea what the time was. Didn’t in fact care. Relaxation as heavy and comfortable as warm oil was flowing into him. He felt Zoro’s hand rest against his arm; fingers lightly stroke small circles against his skin. The touch was barely perceptible... Yet reassuring.

Sanji spoke in a low whisper, before sleep really got hold of him. “You want me to set the alarm to wake us up?”

“Hhm... Not on my account.” Zoro’s voice sounded like he was half-asleep already. “S’nowhere I particularly need t’ be... New Year’s... day off...” His murmur trailed away, to be replaced by the steady sound of somnolent breathing. His fingers stilled against Sanji’s arm.

Sanji found a smile coming onto his face, in the darkness. He was so tired his brain felt pleasantly stupid. He was warm, nestled against the comforting solidity of Zoro. And he felt good, in a way that he'd almost forgotten how to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unsurprisingly, this chapter has bumped up the rating from 'Mature' to 'Explicit'.
> 
> Thank you so so much, readers, for the hits and kudos and comments so far. Writing this chapter put me totally out of my comfort zone, nyarghhh... It's really challenging to write creative smut. (Hope it works.)


	7. Where We Begin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sanji looked at the head turned away from him, green hair dark against the pillow. Zoro was sleeping heavily, easily; his hand loosely curled on the bed in front of him. In the half-light that filled the bedroom, the bruise on his cheek looked darker than it had the night before. Or maybe it had grown darker, the way bruises did. The three steri-strips holding closed the cut above his eye were reflected with odd symmetry, in the three slender gold earrings that lay against his neck.
> 
> Sanji wanted to touch them.

* * *

_There's nothing we can do about_  
_The things we have to do without_  
_The only way to feel again_  
_Is let love in_  
  
_The end of fear is where we begin_  
_The moment we decided to let love in_

_-       Goo Goo Dolls_

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

It was daylight that woke Sanji, eventually. Filtering through layers of sleep so deep that even his dreams were shadows. Daylight penetrated his closed eyelids, connecting to that part of him that recognised the external world of time: gradually dragging him into semi-awareness. Even then Sanji lay with his eyes shut for a while, conscious only of the sensations he was letting in. The soft give of the pillow as he shifted his head slightly. The brush of his arm against the sheet. The pleasant accumulated warmth of sleep.

He opened his eyes, just a little. Gazed at the pale glow of the window, curtains letting through daylight. Blinked slowly at them.

_Huh... Morning?_

Too much light. He blinked again, and opened his eyes all the way. Full daylight, sunlight even, with a stripe of shadow thrown by the window frame.

_What the hell time is it?_

 

 

He pushed himself up on one elbow, automatically reaching for the clock on the nightstand. As his hand closed around it he felt the bed shift slightly with a movement that wasn’t his own: looked round, mind still fogged with sleep. Down at the other person who lay stretched beside him.

Zoro. Stirring a little on his back, a slight frown passing over his face, but eyes staying shut.

Sanji sat motionless, the clock still held in one hand.

Zoro shifted, rolling over on to his side. Settled his head more firmly into the pillow: then lay still. After a few seconds, the slow steady rhythm of his sleeping breaths resumed.

 

 

Sanji turned the clock in his hand to read the time: almost one in the afternoon. His eyebrows lifted in surprise. It had been a good while since he’d slept this late in the day.

_Then again... Kind of an eventful night._

His gaze fell again on the sleeping form next to him. For a few moments he just sat there, letting the world come back.

Memories came back with it, a rush of half-remembered images. A raised hand swinging back a bottle. The impact of his foot slamming into someone’s ribs. Standing in the alleyway in the early morning chill, counting his tips.

Zoro’s fingers clenched among the green spikes of his hair, as he let his memories spill out.

Zoro’s hand curling round Sanji’s knee, lifting it. Their mouths finding each other.

 

 

Sanji looked at the head turned away from him, green hair dark against the pillow. Zoro was sleeping heavily, easily; his hand loosely curled on the bed in front of him. In the half-light that filled the bedroom, the bruise on his cheek looked darker than it had the night before. Or maybe it had grown darker, the way bruises did. The three steri-strips holding closed the cut above his eye were reflected with odd symmetry, in the three slender gold earrings that lay against his neck.

Sanji wanted to touch them.

 

 

Instead he slowly replaced the clock on the nightstand. Equally slowly, and with infinite care, he lifted back the coverlet from over himself, sliding his legs out and over the edge of the bed. Stood up and padded softly towards his chest of drawers. He pulled on sweatpants and a long-sleeved t-shirt, before exiting the bedroom, easing the door silently shut behind him.

Out in the hallway, his wakening brain presented him with summary demands. _Shower. Coffee._ _Nicotine._ He followed these directives because it gave him at least some space before thinking started to kick in.

 

 

Once showered and in the kitchen, the unwashed dishes from the night before made him pause.

-       _You can really fucking cook._

Sanji smiled. Turned away and filled the kettle; spooned coffee into the cafetière. Waited with folded arms for the water to boil, leaning back against the kitchen counter. When the coffee had brewed he poured himself a large mugful, before decamping to the sitting room.

 

 

There were still glasses on the table. His unfinished bottle of wine. Zoro’s bottle of Jack Daniels. Sanji set down his coffee, before picking up glasses and bottles and taking them through into the kitchen. Put the wine away in the refrigerator, set the whiskey on the kitchen table and the glasses in the sink. Returning to the sitting room he found his cigarettes and lighter, before sitting on the couch. Took a sip of coffee; extracted a cigarette from the packet and lit up.

Almost a full five minutes passed, while the familiar and oh-so-nice toxins chased their way into his bloodstream. Sanji waited until that process was well under way, before letting himself tune in to any of the thoughts that were starting to well up. Of which the first was, _This is the weirdest start to the new year ever._

Not weird as in bad. Just weird as in... _Didn’t see this coming._

 

 

Last night had been what Sanji wanted; absolutely, no doubt about it. And just thinking about the sex right now was enough to make him half close his eyes because of the pictures of Zoro that conjured up.

But it wasn’t just what had happened between them in the bedroom. It was everything that had led up to that. Starting from the moment they began verbally sparring over the bar in the club. The fight with the drunks. The conversation back here, that had started out casual but gone to a place where both of them had opened up and laid their vulnerabilities bare.

Sanji couldn’t remember the last time he’d talked to someone about his childhood fights. Hadn’t ever _wanted_ to, before. And while it would be easy to ascribe it to the fact that it had been New Year’s and they’d both been drinking, he knew that wasn’t why he’d spoken about those things. He’d done it because it had felt safe. And right. But mainly because Zoro had done it too.

 

 

Sanji curled both hands round his mug of coffee, feet drawn up on the couch. And felt his heart starting to race.

_Totally fucking naked._

Not in bed, the sex: that wasn’t what was flooding his body with adrenalin. _Naked_ in the sense that in the space of a few hours he’d gone from seeing Zoro as an annoying bar customer to sharing intimate details of his life with him. _Wanting_ to share intimate details of his life with him.

 

 

Sanji took a pull on his cigarette before exhaling smoke, counting slowly on the out breath.

_Okay. Don’t freak out. Think. What exactly is it about this that’s pushing your fucking buttons?_

He knew, though. It was like vertigo: of standing close to the edge of a cliff and peering down at the view hundreds of feet below and feeling solid ground go unsteady and the world spin around. Because after just one night, he felt a sense of connection so strong with Zoro that it scared the fuck out of him.

Zoro. Scowling at him across the bar. Grinning before he turned away to take on the crowd of drunks. Arguing in the street. Encouraging Sanji to pursue his dreams. Letting out the story of his dead friend, words with broken edges. Pushing Sanji back against the bedroom door, his tongue in his mouth.

 

 

Sanji’s eyes drifted up to the photograph on the wall opposite. The familiar sweep of sea and fish and sky, blue light and motion.

-       _People talk themselves out of doing stuff all the fucking time. Because they think it’s going to be too difficult, or because they might screw up._

The anxiety that was still playing his body was an old adversary. He’d long ago accepted that it would never leave him, at least not permanently. Sometimes he hated it: hated the way it made things complicated that should be simple. The way it could throw up a backbeat of unnecessary dread that sucked up energy, or took away pleasure. But it was a part of him, so he’d learned to live with it. Fought it, as effectively as he could. And the one thing he’d understood that had freed him from it, more than anything else, was the realisation that the only way to escape fear was to walk through it.

-       _If it’s something you really want... It’s worth taking a shot at it._

 

 

Sanji wanted so many things right now, in this precise moment, it was difficult to separate them. He wanted to be a top chef. He wanted not to have to worry about money any more. He wanted to swim, some day, in a tropical ocean. He wanted to be happy.

He wanted Zoro.

 

 

_Maybe start with one thing._

 

 

The coffee was cooling in the mug between his hands: Sanji drained it in a couple of swallows, before setting the empty mug down on the table. Stubbed out the end of his cigarette, then stood and walked out of the room.

 

 

The bedroom with its curtains still drawn seemed dark after the bright daylight in the rest of the apartment. Sanji stepped up quietly to the bed, hearing the sounds of Zoro still in apparently heavy sleep. The chef sat down on the bed – and Zoro’s even breathing stopped. Dark eyes opened instantly, finding him. Sanji gave a smile downwards. “Hey.”

“Hmm...” Zoro’s response sounded like he’d come up from sound sleep to wakefulness slightly too rapidly. He blinked, then focussed on Sanji, lifting his head slightly from the pillow. “...S’it morning?”

“It was morning when we went to bed,” Sanji responded. “It’s early afternoon now.”

“Oh?” Zoro considered this, then let his head settle back against the pillow.

“And new year, obviously.” Sanji leaned back against the headboard, stretching his legs out comfortably along the bed. “So: happy new year.”

Zoro smiled at this. “Yeah. Happy new year.” His gaze took in Sanji’s clothes. “You been up a while?”

“Just a half hour or so. I wanted a cigarette. Didn’t think you’d appreciate me smoking in here.”

Zoro’s eyebrows raised slightly. “It’s your apartment. You can smoke wherever the hell you like.”

 

 

Sanji felt a pleasant spike of comfort at this affirmation. “Yeah, well... I was being considerate. It’s a thing people do.”

Zoro’s hand reached out: closed around Sanji’s hand and tugged it sideways, bringing the chef down towards him at the same time as leaning up himself and capturing Sanji’s mouth with a kiss. “Thanks.” Another kiss: then Zoro let go of him, propped up on one elbow. “You had coffee too?”

Sanji laughed then. “You have a discerning palate.”

“Whatever the fuck _that_ means.”

“It means you’re a man of taste.” Sanji smirked. “Naturally, as you wound up coming home with me.”

“It was the best offer I’d had all evening.”

“It was the only offer you’d had all evening.” Sanji smirked wider.

Zoro regarded him levelly. “You want to go a round? I’ve only been awake five minutes, but you’re already ragging on me.”

 

 

Sanji reined in his grin a notch. “It’s just the caffeine talking. You want me to bring you a cup of coffee?”

“Nah.” Zoro let out a huge yawn, stretching up both arms before folding them behind his head. “I’ll get up. Okay to use your shower?”

“Sure.” Sanji let his gaze run over Zoro’s shoulders and chest, feeling a zing of pleasure ignite in his guts. And somewhat regretting his decision to take his own shower earlier, alone. “You feeling okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Ah, let me see...” Sanji held up both hands, enumerating on his fingers the tally of the night before. “One bottle of sake, five or six beers, almost half a bottle of whiskey... I wondered if maybe you might be feeling a little fragile.”

Zoro shook his head. “Like I said. Fast metabolism.” His gaze flicked up to Sanji’s. “Plus, that food you cooked.”

“Right.” Sanji remembered the other man’s appreciation last night. “I could make us some breakfast, too. How does that sound?”

A smile spread across Zoro’s face. “Great.”

“You like French toast?”

The smile was replaced by an unsure look. “What the hell is French toast?”

“You never ate French toast?” Sanji was slightly aghast.

“As I have no fucking idea what it is, who knows.” Zoro shrugged.

“Philistine.” Sanji snorted. “It’s like, bread dipped in egg and fried, with cinnamon and spices and stuff. Basically.”

Zoro’s eyebrows drew together slightly. “Sounds gross.”

“First off: French toast is not gross, it’s delicious. And secondly: call my cooking gross _ever_ again and I will kick your ass.” Sanji gave him a dirty look.

“Don’t get your apron strings in a twist, cook.” Zoro grinned at him. “You want to make me breakfast, I’m in. Just as long as whatever food you stick in front of me doesn’t have maple syrup or any shit like that drizzled over it.”

Sanji recalled Zoro’s comment from the night before, that he didn’t drink ‘sickly’ cocktails. “You don’t like sweet things, I’m guessing.”

“You guess right.”

“Hm.” Sanji considered for a moment. “Okay. I can work with that.” He stood up smoothly, and gave the other man a sidelong smile. “Shame though. Get a good quality maple syrup, drizzle it on something... I could enjoy licking it off.”

Even in the half light of the bedroom it was possible to see the flush come onto Zoro’s face. Sanji strolled towards the door, pausing only to add over his shoulder, “Help yourself to towels, they’re on the top shelf in the bathroom. I’ll be in the kitchen.”

 

 

Once alone in the kitchen again, Sanji got out ingredients, running through possible savoury French toast recipes in his mind. He whisked the eggs and added grated parmesan, parsley, a little garlic and a pinch of chilli flakes for a kick: laid slices of bread in the mixture and left them to soak it up a little.

Refilling the kettle to boil more water for fresh coffee, he stood waiting beside it, his gaze drifting out of the window to the clear January afternoon beyond. There was a cloudless sky and flawless sunshine, which probably meant that it would be cold as hell out. Not that this was an issue, because Sanji didn’t have plans to go out today. He watched birds fly up from the roof of a building opposite, circling into the pale winter sky.

 

 

A footfall sounded behind him, then Zoro’s voice. “Thanks for the shower. I put the towel I used in the basket, along with the one I used last night.”

Sanji turned around. “Right.” Zoro stood in the kitchen, his hair still damp from the shower. Sanji noticed he’d taken the steri-strips off from the cut over his eye. “You want the first aid kit again?”

Zoro gave a half-shake of his head. “No.” He gestured briefly at his forehead. “I heal quick.”

He was right, the cut was already closed; but the bruise on his cheekbone had spread. It looked to Sanji as though it was going to develop into a pretty good black eye. “You should’ve let me get you that ice last night. You’re going to have a shiner.”

From the slight shrug Zoro gave, it was evident he didn’t much care. “I’ll survive.”

“They won’t give you shit at work about it?”

“I’ll just tell them I got it competing.” One corner of Zoro’s mouth lifted in a grin. “Morons there won’t know any different.”

 

 

Turning back to the kettle, Sanji saw it had boiled. He picked it up and poured water into the cafetière. “When have you got to be back at the gym?”

“Tomorrow.” Zoro grimaced slightly. “All those fucking dorks on New Year’s get-fit resolutions, the place gets half its new membership signed up in the first two weeks of January. I’ll be busy.”

“Doesn’t sound like you’re looking forward to it much.”

“Most of them will be time-wasters. Going into it half-assed, and quitting after three months because it feels too much like hard work.” Zoro spoke in dismissive tones. “I don’t mind teaching people who aim at something, train hard to get there... But some of the others are a pain in the ass. Too used to getting what they want, too easily. And when they don’t get their perfect physique after three months, they act like it’s something _I’m_ doing wrong, instead of them not working at it.”

“Sounds like you might need to work on your motivational skills.”

“Screw that.” Zoro sounded amused at the notion. “They don’t pay me enough to act like a cheerleader.”

Sanji gave him a sideways look. “Is everyone at your workplace as hardcore as you? If so, I’m surprised the gym’s still in business.”

Zoro snorted. “You’d be surprised. The tougher I am with some clients, the more they seem to lap it up. It’s like they enjoy it.”

 

 

Sanji pictured Zoro standing over some sweating unfortunate in a gym, issuing commands. And found himself standing motionless with one hand gripping the cafetière when _Zoro standing over_ plus _sweating_ plus _commands_ combined in his imagination to produce something a lot more graphic than he’d originally intended. The kitchen suddenly felt a lot warmer. “Uh... Right.” He blinked. “You want some coffee now?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

“How d’you take it?”

“Black.”

Sanji poured two mugs, handing one to the other man before moving over to the dish where the slices of bread lay soaking in the egg mixture. “You want to go through to the sitting room, I’ll finish cooking breakfast.”

Zoro looked over at the dish. “What the hell is that stuff the bread’s lying in?”

Sanji rolled his eyes. “Egg. Amongst other things.”

“Since when do eggs have green stuff in them?”

“When you add chopped parsley, moron.” At Zoro’s dubious look, Sanji gestured at his head. “It’s a new dish I’ve invented specially for you, in honour of your hair. Eggs Roronoa. It doesn’t sound as classy as Eggs Benedict, but it may catch on.”

“It looks like - ”

“ _So_ not interested in hearing the end of that sentence.” Sanji picked up the dish and gestured pointedly towards the doorway. “I’m going to cook now. This will go better with you elsewhere. Enjoy your coffee.”

After a beat, Zoro turned away and headed out of the kitchen. Sanji gave a half-shake of his head, before reaching into a cupboard and getting out his large cast iron skillet.

 

 

Twenty minutes or so later he was sliding the French toast, nicely golden-brown after being fried over a low heat, onto a couple of plates. Scattering a little more parsley and some chopped green onion over the top, he topped up his mug of coffee and then headed through to the main room, plates in hand. “Okay. Breakfast... or brunch, whatever... is served.”

Zoro was kneeling on the floor, hands resting in his lap and eyes closed. He opened them and looked up at the chef; blinked, then unfolded his legs, rising from the floor.

Sanji set the plates on the low table, along with cutlery, sitting down at one end of the couch. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Fine.” Zoro sat at the couch’s other end. “I was just meditating.”

Sanji mentally added that to the tally of unexpected things he’d learned about Zoro so far. “Didn’t mean to disturb you.” Sanji paused, coffee halfway to his mouth. “You want to finish up? I can put the food in the oven, keep it warm.”

“No, don’t bother.” Zoro reached for his own plate. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll do it again this evening.”

Sanji picked up his plate and sliced off a corner of his French toast: tried it, and gave a brief mental nod of approval at the seasoning balance. “Is meditating part of the kendo thing?”

“That’s how I started doing it, yeah.” Zoro sampled a mouthful of his own food, and his eyebrows rose appreciatively. “Hm. This is... good.”

“Thanks. So, what: you have to meditate before you fight? Sounds like kind of a weird way to prepare for knocking hell out of your opponent.”

One corner of Zoro’s mouth lifted in a smile, as he ate another chunk of his breakfast. “It’s all about getting your head into the right place. Kendo is a lot about having the right attitude.”

“Not about whacking some other guy over the head with a big stick? I must’ve been missing something.”

 

 

Zoro looked sidelong at him, his brows drawing down a little. “You want to hear about this or not, asshole?”

Sanji held up a hand placatingly. “Yeah, actually I do.”

Zoro gave a brief nod. “Okay. So: for sure, to be a kendōka you have to train physically, practice the techniques, learn the kata, all of that. But you also have to train your mind, work towards developing mushin.” At Sanji’s look of incomprehension, Zoro backtracked a little. “Okay, quick glossary. Kendōka is the name for a kendo practitioner. Kata is like the form, the moves you use. Lots of other Japanese martial arts have kata too, just different ones.”

“Kata I knew about,” responded Sanji. “I remember this guy who did karate telling me about them; he said they were like over a hundred moves, or something like that.”

Zoro nodded. “So that’s the physical stuff. But mushin is all about mental training. It came from Zen Buddhism originally. Mushin no shin: ‘mind without mind’.”

Sanji raised his eyebrow. “As in, mindless?”

“As in, a mind that’s not occupied with thoughts or emotions or distractions. You have to empty your mind of all the background crap that normally runs through it non-stop. But that doesn’t mean zone out. It means being totally aware, totally present.” Zoro gestured at where he’d been kneeling on the floor. “We do mokuso: meditation to compose the mind and get to that place of awareness and stillness. You do it before training and competing; ideally for at least an hour a day.”

“And it works?” Sanji was intrigued. “I mean, you notice it makes a difference when you fight?”

Zoro gave a slight huff of amusement. “Oh, yeah. When I first started out in kendo I thought the whole mokuso thing was a total waste of time. I was like, ‘Fuck this mystic Jedi shit, just point me at somebody and I’ll take them on.’ But after a while it eventually got through to me that the really awesome kendōka I saw competing in shiai had this incredible focus. Other fighters were strong and had major attitude – which is also really important in kendo – but the top practitioners had this totally different quality to how they fought. This incredible presence. Absolute calm, coupled with the ability to react like the speed of light. So it finally clicked into place: that was what mushin meant. Being able to drop any shit that gets in the way: anger, ego, fear, whatever... Just be totally there, in every moment.”

Sanji considered this. “Makes sense. But it sounds easier to describe than to do.”

“For sure,” Zoro agreed. “That’s why the daily mokuso practice. The more you do it, the easier it becomes to go to that place when you’re standing in front of an opponent.

“Sounds interesting.” Sanji nodded, then gave a quick grin. “Although, I have to say: it does also sound a little like mystic Jedi shit.”

Zoro gave him a level look. “Any time you want to try taking me on, I’ll be happy to oblige.”

Sanji swallowed a mouthful of his breakfast quickly. “Seriously?” His grin spread wider. “You want to spar with me? Wouldn’t that be going to the Dark Side?”

Zoro rolled his eyes. “If you’re too chickenshit, just say so.”

“Like hell, moss-head.” Sanji folded his arms. “Any time you want to go, I’m up for it.”

“Fine.” Zoro shrugged. “We’ll set something up. I can get a practice space at the gym, there’s usually one free in the evenings.”

 

 

Sanji regarded the other man.

_Did we just arrange a follow-up date?_

He suspected if nothing else, a sparring match would be interesting. And the idea of further contact with Zoro – albeit fighting him – gave him a nice pleasurable feeling of anticipation. “Just so we’re clear on this, though... Are we talking sparring with or without weapons? Because you having one of those wooden sword things might be kind of an unfair advantage.”

Zoro got a predatory grin on his face. “Looking for an out?”

“Like hell, craphead.” Sanji scowled at him. “If you feel you need an edge, I can handle it.”

“To take you?” Zoro was still grinning. “Don’t worry. We’ll start out easy. Seeing as how you’re only able to use your feet, anyway.”

“You notice that holding me back any last night, in that little dance we had with those crapheads in the club?”

“Not so much,” Zoro admitted. “But it has to put you at a disadvantage sometimes, fighting with just half your body.”

“After I’ve kicked your ass, feel free to revisit that opinion.”

They both held each other’s gaze challengingly for a few seconds... Before Zoro chuckled. “What the hell. It’ll be interesting finding out.”

 

 

 _Interesting. Yeah._ Sanji found himself visualising several ways in which him and Zoro grappling in a gym could turn out. _Interesting_ was a word that didn’t begin to cover it. “Great. I’m in. Just let me know when.”

“I will.” Zoro scooped up the last forkful of his breakfast, before placing his empty plate on the table. “Out of curiosity, though... Don’t you use your hands at all, when you fight?”

“Sure I do. I use them for balance, for moving, all of that: just not for hitting.”

“Why?”

Sanji held up both hands and wiggled his fingers slightly. “These babies are what I cook with. If I fucked them up fighting, I wouldn’t be able to work.”

Zoro grunted in understanding. “Fair enough. I could see how you wouldn’t want to risk it, you definitely have talent in that area.” He gestured at his empty plate. “And on that subject: thanks for feeding me again.”

“No problem.” Sanji picked up his mug of coffee and took a sip.

 

 

Zoro flexed both arms and stretched, before glancing over at the window. “Hm. You any idea what time it is?”

Sanji picked up his phone from the table and turned it on. “Coming up to half three.” He was surprised: the time had passed without him noticing it. As he was holding his phone, it chimed to signal a text had been waiting to land in his mailbox. He saw Nami’s name, and swiped the screen to bring her message up.

_‘HNY 4 real this time - how u doing after yr nite pouring drinks 4 yuppies?’_

Even as he was reading it, three more texts opened in quick succession, signalling that Nami had been waiting impatiently for an answer.

_‘ruok? tmb’_

_‘gdi Sanji u better be hungover and not dead in an alley somewhere.’_

_‘tmb rn b4 I call missing person report 2 the cops’_

He smiled at the screen before looking up at Zoro, who was watching him. “Ha... Sorry. My friend is text bombing me. I better reply before she shows up here and busts the door down.” Bringing up the keypad he quickly typed, _‘Sorry got up late eventful night, hope u had a great NYE my angel?’_

 

 

Hitting send, he laid the phone back on the table and looked back at Zoro. The other man met his gaze, then nodded towards the phone. “Your friend wishing you a happy new year?”

“Yeah. Amongst other things.” Sanji remembered suddenly, that Zoro had lost his phone in the club last night. “Uh... Did you want to use my phone, call a cab to get home?”

Zoro gave a slight shrug. “Either that or hop a bus. Though I have no idea which bus I’d catch from here.”

“That’s easily remedied.” Sanji got up and went to his desk: picked up his laptop and switched it on. While he was waiting for it to fire up, another two texts signalled their arrival on his phone in quick succession. Moving back to the couch and placing his laptop on the table, he sat down again and looked at his phone screen.

_‘about time ID10T starting 2 worry. wt does eventful mean exactly?’_

Swiftly followed by:

_‘omg did u score?!?’_

 

Sanji’s mouth tightened a little. Pausing only to bring up the internet, he slid the laptop across the table in Zoro’s direction. “Here. You should be able to find a bus route that goes somewhere near your friend’s apartment. There’s a couple of routes that stop at the end of this block, near that corner store we went to last night. There ought to be some buses running, even on New Year’s Day.” Sitting back cross-legged on the couch, he picked up his phone. “And excuse me a minute: I just have to answer this.”

Zoro gave a nod in reply, giving him a glance before leaning forward to start typing slowly on the laptop’s keyboard. Sanji settled his phone into the palm of his hand, thinking for a few seconds. At last he typed, _‘Eventful as in I got in a fight & got fired & yes I met someone.’_

Approximately five seconds later Nami’s next demand blipped into his inbox.

_‘MorF? pics & details’_

Sanji smiled, as he typed his reply. _‘M. Pic 2 follow.’_ Flicking his phone on to silent so as not to give away what he was doing, he angled it casually until its camera framed Zoro, who was still sat tapping on the laptop keyboard, eyes scanning the screen in front of him. Sanji unobtrusively took the photo; checked it out briefly; then sent it to Nami. Her next two texts arrived after a half minute or so.

_‘green hair?? aykm?’_

_‘srsly tho looks hot - u gt any pics w/o clothes?’_

Sanji’s hand clenched on his phone for a second. His eyes flicked up to where Zoro still sat studying the laptop screen... Then returned to his texting. _‘Ignoring last q. So did u have gd NYE?’_

_‘ :( spoilsport. Yeah was gr8 but sounds like yr nite was better. Gonna get whole story from u next time I see u.’_

This time Sanji smiled. _‘U doing anything Fri eve? Got idea 4 wrk, cld use yr help. Will cook u dinner.’_

Nami’s next text opened with a line of smiley faces. ‘ _U kno how 2 get a girls attention. Make tiramisu 4 dessert & its a deal.’_

Sanji smiled wider. _‘For u my lovely will make tiramisu that will melt in yr mouth. 7pm @ mine Fri c u then xoxo’_

_‘Expecting pornographic details + orgasmic dessert xxxx’_

 

 

Sanji laid his phone down, then glanced across to where Zoro was poring over the computer. The other man was scrolling up and down a screen, a slight frown on his face. “Everything okay? You find a bus schedule on there?”

Zoro gave a slight shrug of one shoulder, still frowning at the laptop. “Don’t know why they have to make these goddamn route maps so complicated...”

Sanji unfolded his legs and scooted along the couch until he was sitting beside the other man, looking at the screen. “What’s your friend Luffy’s address?”

“548 Powell Street.”

“Well, that’s Powell Street there.” Sanji rested the tip of one finger on the map on the screen. “So, look - the 62 bus route goes close by: and it stops just down the block from here, like I said.” He indicated the bus’s route by drawing his finger along it. “So that looks like your best bet.”

Zoro studied the map, following the cook’s finger with his gaze. “Huh... Yeah, okay: I guess.”

Sanji found a slight smile coming to his face. “Want me to write down directions and draw a map for you?”

Zoro’s eyes flicked to the chef in quick annoyance. “Just tell me when the next fucking bus is running, asshole.”

Sanji snorted. “No problem.” He clicked on the 62 bus route and brought up a timetable: checked out the frequency of its New Year’s holiday service. “You’re in luck. There’s one at a quarter to five.” He double-checked the timetable, before sitting back on the couch. “Should get you back to your place before six o’clock.”

Zoro nodded. “Okay. That’ll do fine.”

 

 

Sanji felt a slight pang then. Of what, he wasn’t sure. “I can walk you to the stop. It’s only ten minutes or so away.”

Zoro’s brows drew down again a little. “I can find it.”

“Well, sure...” Sanji inwardly doubted the veracity of this, but decided against expressing his opinion. “But I could use the walk. Get some fresh air.” Which was a hundred per cent untrue: it would probably be sub-zero outside, but that wasn’t the point. “You rather I didn’t come with?”

Zoro’s eyes rested on him for a second... Before the other man’s face relaxed slightly. “No. It’s cool.”

Sanji felt himself relax too. “Okay then.”

 

 

There was a moment of quiet between them, then. Sanji found his gaze falling to the edge of the couch. To where his knee almost touched Zoro’s. To where Zoro’s hand rested on his own thigh, fingers curled around the mug of coffee he was still holding. Sanji suddenly felt again that sensation of vertigo, of falling, of being pulled in. Something like gravity coming off the other man, as if he were a large planet or a star. Or a black hole. Something unknown, pulling everything in: even light. And no telling what would happen once you crossed the event horizon. How things would be changed.

Sanji knew that part of him wanted to run while there was still a chance of escaping that gravitational pull. But the rest of him, the biggest part of him, wanted to be caught. As he thought this he let his gaze lift to Zoro’s face: saw that the other man had been watching him. The corner of Zoro’s mouth lifted, just a little. “Busy in there?”

Sanji didn’t get it, for a moment. “Huh?”

Zoro set his coffee mug lightly on the table. “Looked like you were thinking a bunch of stuff.” He rested his arms across his knees, still looking at the chef. “Something the matter?”

“No.” Sanji gave a slight shake of his head. “Just... thinking, like you said.” He gave the other man a small smile. “And not totally with it. I think last night is catching up with me.”

 

 

Zoro nodded slowly. “Yeah.” His eyes studied Sanji’s face. “Was it... okay?”

“Okay?” Sanji blinked, caught unawares by the question. He saw a slight tension come into Zoro’s face: realised, with momentary disbelief, that the other man was actually worried about what reply he was going to get. “It was great.” The words sounded inadequate, as soon as they left his lips. “I mean, I had a great time. And it seemed like you were having a great time. I mean, I hope so...” _Oh fucksake, Sanji, quit talking while you’re just sounding like half an inarticulate asshole instead of a complete one._

Zoro just nodded in assent, though. Quickly. “I did. It wasn’t how I planned my evening to turn out... but I’m really glad that it did.” A momentary frown clouded his face. “Even though I didn’t exactly help the mood by coming out with all that heavy-ass shit from my past.”

“Like I said last night: I didn’t have a problem with listening.” Sanji gave him a reassuring smile. “And the rest of it was seriously enjoyable.”

Zoro’s expression lightened. “So... You think you’d like to do something like it again, sometime soon?”

Sanji raised an eyebrow. “With or without the bar brawl first?”

Zoro laughed then. “I was thinking maybe go for a drink or dinner, but what the hell: we could take in some action on the way.”

 

 

Sanji shrugged. “Whatever. We’re already going to get together for some sparring. How about we go for a drink afterwards? Or if you want to eat, I could cook us some food.”

Zoro nodded. “A drink sounds good. You don’t have to cook, though: we could just get take-out or something.”

Sanji wrinkled his nose. “Pizza or burgers? I’m not a huge fan of junk food.”

“Okay then: Chinese, or whatever. You pick.”

Sanji considered for a moment. “How about, whoever wins the sparring match picks what food we get to eat.”

“Deal.” Zoro smiled. Lifting his coffee cup again he drained it, before setting it down empty on the table. That done, he turned his gaze back to Sanji.

 

 

Sanji felt his stomach tighten up a little. Not in a bad way: but with Zoro’s eyes holding him, he suddenly felt that gravitational pull once again.

From the look on Zoro’s face, he wasn’t immune to it either. His gaze sketched across Sanji’s face: then he took a breath, before saying quietly, “So... I guess we have a little time before I have to catch that bus.”

Sanji smiled. Then leaned across and kissed Zoro on the mouth.

_Hell with subtlety._

He felt Zoro open to the kiss, instantly. And two seconds later, the other man’s arms go up and round his shoulders, one hand resting on the back of his neck, pulling him in closer.

 

 

It was different to last night, but felt just as good. Sanji deepened the kiss and slid his own hands around Zoro’s ribs then up his back; to his shoulders. Lost himself in the warm and pleasurable feeling of releasing control, letting physical sensation take over for a while.

When oxygen became an issue they broke for a moment to catch their breath, before resuming. Zoro leaned backwards and then they were both sliding down to lie along the couch, Sanji on top. He worked his tongue in Zoro’s mouth: then pulled back a little and tracked kisses down his jaw to his neck. Zoro’s head fell back slightly and Sanji felt the other man’s hands tighten on his back. He let himself be drawn in closer, hips pressing against hips. Let his mouth seek out Zoro’s earrings and teased around them with his tongue.

“Mmh...” Zoro’s hands pulled against the small of the cook’s back, his legs shifting, parting, until Sanji was lying between them and they were able to push their hips tight together. The cook felt the swell of Zoro’s hard-on through his pants and ground his own developing arousal against it: moved his hips slowly, enjoying both the sensations and the way Zoro’s breath caught. Moving his mouth from Zoro’s ear back to his neck, Sanji zagged his tongue along the skin, applying pressure. Another unsteady exhalation from the man beneath him told him he was doing all the right things.

 

 

There was no reason to stay and continue this on the couch, but Sanji didn’t feel like slowing down to suggest relocating to the bedroom as they had the previous night. In actual fact he was already way too into it to stop. Every movement of his hips against Zoro underneath him sent him higher, every stroke of his tongue against Zoro’s skin, every sound the other man was making was tracking straight to his groin. And Zoro was moving underneath him too, responding to Sanji’s crotch grinding down on him with equally fervent motions upwards. When Sanji finally brought his mouth back to Zoro’s, the other man’s hand curled round the back of his head and pulled him down, crushing the cook’s lips against his own, tongue driving between them and taking over the kiss in a way that sent heat spiralling through Sanji’s body.

Their hands were roaming over each other now. Sanji found the buttons of Zoro’s shirt with his fingers and practically yanked them open: felt Zoro push his hands under the bottom edge of his t-shirt and tug it up his body. And then when both items of clothing had been stripped and discarded, lying along each other again and recapturing each other’s mouths, hands sliding and gripping on skin, hauling one another close.

 

 

Zoro bucked his hips up slightly and Sanji echoed the movement, the two of them simultaneously _Uhhm-ing_ out a breath. Then Sanji brought his hand from Zoro’s shoulder down between them, catching at Zoro’s belt, unbuckling it. He felt Zoro’s fingers tug at his sweatpants, pulling them downwards around his thighs. And then they were both freed, Sanji’s hand closing around Zoro’s cock and feeling Zoro’s warm fingers close around him in turn and the delicious feel of skin on skin, as he leaned in and pressed his body as close as he could get against the other man’s.

Zoro let the cook mould against him, his hand between them falling away to allow their hips to press even closer together. Taking hold instead of Sanji’s hips and letting the cook set the pace, a slow tight rocking that slid their cocks against each other. Breathing hard, lips slightly parted; Zoro’s dark eyes half closed as he looked up at the chef. Sanji found himself holding that steady gaze, watching the changes in Zoro’s face. The way the other man’s lips parted wider. His eyelids fluttering almost shut. Brows drawing together as the rhythm of his breathing sped up.

Sanji felt warm lubricity: Zoro’s pre-cum or his own, or both; their cocks growing slick between them. He let out a hungry sigh and bent his head down, sliding his tongue between Zoro’s lips. Placed both hands either side of Zoro’s head, just above his shoulders. Everything warm wet heat and friction, the movement of their bodies against each other picking up pace as they both got caught up in wanting it harder, faster, more.

 

 

_I want to do this with you. Over and over._

 

 

Sanji gave himself to the rhythm, to following the sweet hot thread of pleasure. Losing track of time, of place, of everything except where their bodies met. Until Zoro’s hands tightened on his hips, fingers digging to bone, hard enough to bruise; Zoro’s head arcing back. “Ahh... uhhh!”

Sanji felt Zoro’s body stutter against him, swiftly followed by the hot pulse as the other man came against him. Sanji fastened his mouth down on Zoro’s again, kissing him hard and pressing him down into the couch, fucking his hips against him and feeling the other man shudder under the impact of his climax as the air came out of him in ragged gasps.

_Oh yeah._

Sanji pulled his head up, just a little. Wanted to watch Zoro’s face. Which was every bit as hot as the warm slick feel of his cock against the other man.

_So. Fucking. Good._

Sanji felt a smile coming onto his face. And then felt himself tipping over. Coming with a hard thrust against Zoro and a shiver and a long groan that finally fell into a sigh as his arms loosened and his head dropped against the other man’s shoulder.

 

 

They lay twined around each other on the couch for a while, feeling their heartbeats slow. Until at last Sanji pushed himself up a little on his elbows and looked down at Zoro. Who looked back, a smile lightening his face.

“Mhmmm...” Sanji hummed a noise of contentment, before bending his head down and delivering a kiss to Zoro’s lips. Zoro accepted it: reciprocated with another. Sanji smiled back at him. “Happy new year.”

Zoro rumbled a low laugh in his chest. “You said that already.”

“It bears repetition.” Sanji planted a third kiss on Zoro’s mouth, before pushing himself a little more upright. “Ahh... Hm. Looks like maybe another shower is in order.”

“We got time?”

“Before we have to leave for you to catch your bus? Yeah, I think so.” Sanji looked sideways to see if he could spot his phone: saw it lying on the table within reach. Stretching out he snagged it and picked it up, feeling Zoro’s arm go round him to support him. Leaning back against the other man he checked the phone’s screen. “Yeah, we’re good. It’s not even four o’clock. Plenty of time.” An idea occurred to him. “Especially if we double up in the shower.”

Zoro’s eyebrows lifted momentarily. “You seriously think that would mean we’d get done quicker?”

“Like I said. We’ve got plenty of time.” Sanji made his expression and tone innocent. “We could scrub each other’s backs.”

“Tchhh...” Zoro lifted his hand: Sanji felt the other man’s fingers rest on his head, then slide through his hair. “Love cook.”

Sanji ran his own hand up into Zoro’s short green spikes. “Moss head.”

“I better not miss that bus. It’s gonna be hard enough getting up for work tomorrow as it is.”

“Okay. I promise not to ravish you against your will.” Sanji grinned at him.

Zoro raised an eyebrow again. “As if.”

 

 

In the event, Zoro’s instinct that showering separately would lead to less delay was the way things turned out... Although Sanji did enjoy the all-too-brief but deeply satisfying sight of Zoro emerging from the shower stall en route to a towel. He stepped past the other man towards the shower, planting a brief kiss on Zoro’s mouth as he passed. “Mm... Nice view.”

Zoro’s cheeks flushed a little as he reached for a towel. “Maybe you ought to have a cold shower.”

“Crap, not likely.” Sanji stepped into the shower stall. “I don’t do self mortification. No fun at all.”

“I think that’s kind of the point.” Zoro wrapped a towel around himself.

“Then it’s a point that eludes me.” Sanji switched on the shower, then yelped as its spray hit his skin. “Holy fuck! Speaking of shitty cold showers!” He groped for the thermostat and twisted it towards the hot end of the scale. “Are you allergic to warm water or something?”

“It wasn’t that cold.” Zoro’s voice was muffled, both by the towel he was evidently rubbing his hair dry with, and the water now running down Sanji’s head and body.

“Cold enough.” Sanji tweaked the heat a notch higher, feeling the muscles in his body that had tensed under the onslaught of the decidedly chilly initial stream start to relax again. “Is that some kind of iron-man kendo thing too? Do you like, break the ice on lakes and go swimming outdoors in winter?”

“I tried, but the groundskeepers caught me and threw me out of the park.”

Sanji turned off the shower and stuck his head out of the stall, fixing Zoro with a look from under raised eyebrows. The other man, who now had his towel tied round his waist, returned the cook’s look with a deadpan one of his own... Before letting his face break into a sly grin. “I may have made that last part up.”

“I fucking hope so.” Sanji gave a half shake of his head, before ducking back to finish his shower.

 

 

They were both dressed and ready to head out the apartment before half past four. Mindful of the likelihood of it being near-arctic outside Sanji layered up, topping his long-sleeve t-shirt with a fleece hoodie, and wrapping a scarf around his neck before donning his coat. He checked that he had his cigarettes and phone, before glancing to where Zoro stood waiting by the door. The other man was, of course, still wearing the clothes he’d gone to the club in the night before: the dark trousers and shirt, with a loose three-quarter length jacket that didn’t look anywhere near heavy enough for January. But Sanji suspected that any offer of loaned extra clothing would be rejected, so he didn’t bother suggesting it. Picking up his keys, he nodded at the door. “You good to go?”

“Yeah, fine.”

 

 

They walked down the apartment block stairs and out into the street, where the late afternoon sunshine made the street bright and pretty but did nothing to take away from the fact that it was, basically, midwinter. Sanji stopped to light a cigarette, before pulling his scarf closer around his neck. The chill wind felt brutal against his skin, after his apartment’s cosiness: he decided that brisk walking would be the best remedy and set off down the street. Zoro kept pace easily, falling into step beside him. After a minute or so of quiet, the other man spoke. “So... What do you have planned for the rest of this week?”

Sanji considered. “Not a hell of a lot. I was going to phone the agency, see if I could get any more temp catering jobs, but the lovely Monica is probably going to blow that out of the water.”

“Monica?”

“The manager at the club.” Sanji sighed out smoke. “She said that she would be letting the agency know why I got fired. Presumably with all the graphic details.”

“Why would they care?”

“Uh, maybe because beating up on customers is not a skill that looks good on any resumé?” Sanji smiled mirthlessly around his cigarette. “They’re not going to want to offer me any more work, after she tells them what a crazy psycho I am.”

“So call them first. Get your version of the story in before she does.”

“Maybe.” Sanji shrugged. “I have to admit, I’m not hugely motivated to do that right now. I’ve been doing temp catering work for the last four months, which is four crappy months too long.”

“Don’t knock it, if it pays the bills.” Zoro spoke matter-of-factly.

“Yeah. For sure. Rent and heat and food and stuff like that, good motivating force.” Sanji flicked ash into the street. “That’s why I keep on doing it.”

 

 

Zoro was quiet for a few moments. At last he said, “It doesn’t have to be forever. Sometimes you’ve got to do shit you hate, to get by. But if you’ve got something you’re aiming for, if you can keep your focus on that, it makes it easier to do the other stuff.”

“I guess.” Sanji felt a heaviness threatening to dim the bright afternoon. “Y’know what? I don’t want to think about crappy temping work right now. Let’s change the subject.”

“Okay.”

“You going to be busy at the gym, from tomorrow?”

“Yeah. Like I said earlier... I’ll probably be working a couple of evenings as well as daytimes. Plus I’ve got kendo training one night, too.”

“You do that at the gym?”

“Fuck, no. There isn’t anyone there who’d even know which end of a shinai to hold.” Seeing Sanji’s glance, Zoro translated. “Shinai is the bamboo sword we use. No: I found a dojo not too far from where I work, that I can practice at. Some of the fighters there are pretty good, and we get to compete every few weeks.”

“I guess kendo takes up a lot of your free time.” Sanji said this casually.

 

 

Zoro’s gaze rested on him for a moment. “Well, yeah. Some of it. But y’know: I have a life, too.”

“That’s good. Everyone should have a life. They’re kind of nice.” Sanji let his eyebrows lift in mocking approval. Zoro made no response to this, although one corner of his mouth lifted. After a few moments, Sanji continued. “And I guess I probably will get round to calling the agency tomorrow, get my shit together. Plus when my friend was texting me, I asked her if she could maybe help me out with the idea we talked about last night. Y’know, the starting up my own catering business thing. She’s going to come over for dinner Friday night, we’ll talk about it then. Kick some ideas around maybe.”

Zoro nodded. “Sounds like a good way to start.”

“Yeah.” Sanji smiled. “Knowing Nami, she’ll have plenty of ideas of her own.”

 

 

They walked for a few minutes then in silence. The street was quiet, most people evidently too busy pursuing the traditional New Year’s activity of recovering from hangovers to venture outdoors. Sanji finished his cigarette and flicked it away into the gutter, shoving his hands deep into his coat pockets afterwards. The sun was dropping behind the buildings now, and they were walking in shadow: the air temperature suddenly seemed chillier. Fortunately the bus stop they were aiming for was now in sight. They drew level with it and Sanji came to a halt, gesturing at the pole and sign. “Here y’go. The 62 should be along shortly, if it’s running on time. Which it may be, who knows: weirder things have happened.”

Zoro glanced up at the sign. “Right.” His gaze rested on Sanji. “You don’t have to hang around here till it comes. If you’ve got better things to do.”

“On New Year’s Day?” Sanji pretended to consider for a second. “Well, I guess I could get a head start on alphabetizing my spice rack, but I was going to save that for tomorrow.”

“Okay, smart-ass. I just thought maybe you’d rather head back home than hang out here in the cold. Being as how you’re such a delicate hothouse flower.”

“Just because I have actual nerve endings in my skin doesn’t mean I can’t handle a little weather.” Sanji leaned one shoulder against the bus stop. “Unless you’d rather not be seen on the street in my company.”

Zoro regarded him levelly. “If I did I wouldn’t have spent the last ten minutes walking along it with you.”

“Good.” Sanji took one hand out a coat pocket and held out a folded piece of paper. “You can have this, then.”

Zoro looked at it. “What is it?”

“My phone number. Which you will need to contact me about this sparring session we were talking about doing. Unless you were planning to contact me by carrier pigeon. Which would certainly be novel, not to mention a tad unreliable.”

“Oh. Yeah...” Zoro took the piece of paper and tucked it away into his jacket pocket. “Thanks. I’d give you mine, but as my phone is either still lying on the floor of that shitty club or currently starting a new life in someone else’s possession, there wouldn’t be much point. But I’ll call you, soon as I get a new one.”

“Great.” Sanji nodded. “Whenever.” He tried for sounding relaxed rather than offhand, barely managing to avoid adding, _I’ll be looking forward to it all week._

 

 

The rumble of a vehicle made both men look round: a bus was approaching along the street.

“Wow, miracles sometimes happen. A bus that actually runs to schedule.” Sanji pushed himself upright from where he was leaning against the stop. “That’s got to be a portent of, like, the End Times or something.”

Zoro nodded, watching the bus coming towards them. Just as it pulled up to the kerb, he looked back towards Sanji. “See you soon.”

Sanji felt something expand in his chest then. “For sure.”

Zoro gave him a smile, one of those that changed his whole face. Then as the bus door hissed open, he turned and stepped up inside.

 

 

Sanji stood on the kerb, watching Zoro pay his fare and walk down inside the bus to find a seat. He felt momentarily kind of sappy hanging about there, but blocked the feeling. As the bus throttled up and started to pull away, Sanji watched Zoro. At the last moment the other man sat down towards the rear of the bus, near a window: his gaze travelled out to find Sanji on the sidewalk. The chef raised one hand briefly to shoulder height. Then the bus was accelerating away. Gone.

Sanji let his hand drop. Turned away and began walking back to his apartment, pulling the collar of his coat up around his neck.

 

 

Once home his apartment seemed still and silent. Sanji stood for a moment in the main room, looking at his laptop on the table. The empty couch.

He went through to the kitchen, washed up the cookware and plates from his and Zoro’s shared meals. Wiping down the countertop, he saw the half empty bottle of Jack Daniels still standing on the table: Zoro had evidently forgotten to take it with him.

_So keep it for him, till the next time he comes round._

Sanji considered making himself a sandwich, but he wasn’t really hungry. He took down a wine glass and poured himself a half glass of the wine he’d put away in the refrigerator. Taking it back through to the main room he sat on the couch, sliding up his feet onto it. The room still felt quiet: he could put some music on, but somehow he didn’t feel like it. The quiet was... okay.

As he sat there, his body checked in. He realised that actually he was pretty wiped. Not just physically but in every way: mentally, emotionally.

 

 

He found himself wondering about tomorrow. Getting back to normality, just another day. Doing the things that needed to be done: calling the agency, hustling for more work, potentially sorting out whatever shit-storm Monica was going to try to whip up about his behaviour last night at the club. Just thinking about it made him feel even more tired.

To distract himself he switched on his laptop: opened up the internet and surfed for a little while, checking out various random blogs and sites, not really taking anything much in. Top tips for healthy New Year diets; which restaurants celebrities had been spotted in over the holiday period; what food trends were up and coming, and what were _so_ last year. Sanji took another sip of his wine and clicked open a new tab. _Ten New Year’s resolutions you’ll never keep... or ‘fess up to when you don’t!_

Sanji smiled wryly at the article, noting that _Give up smoking_ was in there at number one. He’d personally tried that particular form of self torture three times, before he’d worked out that (a) he really liked smoking and (b) he’d rather hammer nails through his own foreskin than undergo nicotine withdrawal again. Not to mention that the last time he tried giving up, anyone who actually had to spend time around him went through their own lesser version of the hell that was Sanji without cigarettes.

 

 

He shut down his browser, then closed the laptop, sliding it back onto the table. Resting his head against one end of the couch he lay full length along it, settling comfortably into its softness. Thought about the new year. The changeover time, when people made resolutions, made promises they didn’t intend to keep.

He knew it had no special magic. No guarantees that intentions would translate into outcomes. It was a day like any other: when people made choices, and stepped forward. Into the choices every following day would offer.

 

 

_Bring it on._

 

 

Sanji gazed up at the ceiling and smiled. Before gently letting his eyes drift shut.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here endeth the story. Or probably here endeth this part of it... I'm considering continuing this AU fic as a series, probably with subsequent fics written from both Sanji's and also Zoro's POVs. (Plot bunnies being the fertile things they are.)
> 
> Hope you enjoyed reading. I really truly appreciate the kudos and the comments sooooo much, they've helped me finish this when I had a ton of work commitments knocking hell out of me. Thank you, you precious and shiny OP fic readers!


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